


Russian Roulette

by tristinai



Series: Bad Decisions [10]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Awkward Romance, Barebacking, Blood and Violence, Bottom!Nines, Choking, Drug Dealing, Dubious Consent, Emotional Infidelity, Emotional Manipulation, Gang Violence, Gavin's a bit of an asshole, Gavin/Rupert, Gore, Grace is based off of ST300, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Interrogation, Investigations, Light Bondage, M/M, Makeup Sex, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pining, Police corruption, Post-Break Up, Reed900 is endgame, References to Abuse, References to Torture, Rimming, Robophobia, Sharing Body Heat, Tina300, Top!Gavin, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Infatuation, Unhealthy Relationships, alternating POV in the conclusion, ambiguous ending, background Hannor, bottom!Gavin, but not in the way you think, but when is he not???, cat hating!Nines, cyborg!Nines, fake identity, gangster au, gangster!Nines, hints of Chloe900, mutilation of a corpse, past Convin, reed900, references to rape, references to sexual abuse, top!Nines, top!Rupert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 127,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Gavin Reed is piecing his life back together after having both his relationship and his career at the DPD central station fall apart. Swearing off handsome gangsters, he's determined to find a way around all the red tape surrounding Detroit's corrupted Sixth Precinct and prove he can do his damn job. Yet a tip off from an informant finds the detective right back in the gangster's web and smack dab in the middle of a power struggle between two of Detroit's most notorious crime lords.





	1. Bury The Hatchet

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who left wonderful comments on Locked And Loaded! I believe I have finally caught up in responding to everybody. If I missed your comment, I am sorry! I was a little worried the change in POV would not be well-received but some of you seemed to like getting a glimpse into Kamski's head. If you are expecting more of that, you may be disappointed as Russian Roulette is very Gavin-centric. The chapter numbers remain tentative for now so that may change, depending on how long it takes for me to finish. This is meant to be the end of the series.
> 
> A little warning that this will be different from previous parts. Initially, this series began as an exploration of plot-light, character-heavy scenes that occur through the progression of Gavin's relationship with Nines. This particular part is a lot more plot heavy so the focus shifts periodically from Gavin's broken relationship with Nines and focuses on an ongoing investigation into the spread of red ice in Detroit. I attempt to reimagine a futuristic Detroit where thirium is invented a lot later and androids do not exist, yet the potential for that kind of technology is present. So bear with me if updates are longer: even with this part, I released it later than I wanted because I had to make it more consistent with minor edits to the part of the story I am currently writing. 
> 
> A quick note about the Gavin/Rupert tag: yes, it is a thing. And if anyone on this rare-pair ship is hopping onto this fic hoping for some wonderful feels, you will be sorely disappointed. This story *is* very much a Reed900 fic.
> 
> As always, check the tags. They will be updated along with the story. 
> 
> Happy reading :)

_January 2040_

 

Gavin stares absently at the window, watching as tiny, white flakes dot the glass. The snow’s only just started up again, adding to the remnants of the last snowfall still present on the streets, and with mild irritation, the detective wonders if his worn, leather coat will be enough to stave off the evening chill. His apartment’s not far from here, about a 15 minute walk, but that doesn’t make him feel any better about having to combat the elements. He fucking hates winter.

 

“—you into?”

 

The question catches him off guard, Gavin barely hearing it above the seasonal music playing in the background of the cafe. He startles, eyes flicking back across the table, and is almost surprised to see an annoyed look on the other man’s face.

 

Oh. Right.

 

Gavin’s on a date.

 

“Uh, could you repeat that?”

 

The brunette—fuck’s his name again?—smiles tight-lipped. “I was asking what you’re into. Besides playing on your phone in the middle of a date.”

 

Gavin colors, places it back in his coat pocket. Rupert. The guy’s name’s Rupert. Someone Tina’s been trying to set him up with. He’s not crazy about the decade age difference but the guy’s attractive, with a strong jaw and a hint of snark that Gavin can appreciate. Normally, he’d be all on board, biting back with just as much sarcasm to see if they can go toe-to-toe.

 

But Gavin’s just not feeling it.

 

In fact, he can’t recall the last time he was ‘feeling it’ without it involving an unhealthy amount of liquor.

 

Fuck, they should have gone to a bar.

 

Rupert is still looking at him expectantly, growing more impatient. And Gavin realizes he’s waiting for an answer.

 

“I, uh, work out and shit.”

 

Great. Now he sounds like a fucking meathead.

 

There’s a hint of a smirk in Rupert’s smile. “I noticed.”

 

It should make him feel better than it does as Rupert very obviously checks him out but Gavin’s recent gym regimen began a few months ago in a desperate attempt to keep himself occupied. Being suspended meant he had way too much fucking time on his hands and everything in his place reminded him of that two-faced prick who fucked him over. So Gavin needed the distraction. Lifting weights and running tread replaced that heavy ache inside of him with the physical burn of pushing his body to the limits and before long, he was spending hours there daily, the effects rapidly appearing in the hard muscles hidden beneath his shirt. He’s not been this ripped since the early days he was with Connor and lately, he’s noticed how other men’s eyes linger on him in a way they haven’t in nearly a decade.

 

The attention is not something he can get easily used to.

 

This is the part where he should flirt back, make a swift recovery, and salvage what he can from this shitty date.

 

Problem is: Gavin has no idea what to fucking do with himself.

 

“You, uh, do shit for fun?”

 

Smooth.

 

“Yeah, you could say that.” There’s something playful about the almost half-smile he gives Gavin and in spite of himself, Gavin’s cheeks warm. “Are you gonna follow that up with something or are you waiting for me to fill-in the blanks?”

 

Gavin takes a long sip of his coffee, burning his tongue as he tries to hide his face behind his drink.

 

He’s such a fucking disaster.

 

The awkwardness that follows makes the date go from bad to worse. After a few more attempts at flirting, Rupert’s itching for any excuse to leave and Gavin’s making it that easy for him by being noncommittal. There are no empty promises of ‘I’ll text you some time” and for that, Gavin’s almost grateful.

 

Rupert’s cute. Rupert likes him. Or, seemed to at the start of the date. And Gavin thinks if he tried, he’d like him, too.

 

But he knows after the shit he’d gone through with Connor and then Nines, he’s not ready to put himself out there, not when he’s barely pieced himself back together.

 

As he steps out into the night, he can’t help but feel his mood darken with the evening chill that nips at his exposed cheeks. He had indulged Tina’s concerns about him needing to move on, gave that ‘cute vet student’ a chance, and at least he tried. Sort of. Showing up is all the effort he’d been willing to give and while he can tell himself it’s enough, he suspects he’s gonna hear an earful from Tina later.

 

He’s not looking forward to that but he can’t help but feel a tightness in his chest as he thinks about his best friend. Fuck, does he miss her. He’s only seen her a handful of times since his suspension was lifted and he was transferred to the sixth precinct last month—the fucking _Sixth—_ and he misses being back in the bullpen with her. The assholes he works with now are fucking idiots, a good chunk of them crooked and practically flaunting their fucking sports cars. Gavin’s got no illusions how they can afford that shit.

 

Cutting into a poorly lit alley, Gavin steps around some refuse from a fallen trash can. His shoes crunch in the snow and he shoves his hands in his jean pockets to try and keep them warm. As he rounds the corner onto a side street, an odd, prickling sensation creeps up his neck.

 

He pauses.

 

Though he strains to hear, he can’t distinguish any other sound, beyond the general noise of the city. He glances back but doesn’t see anything except the play of shadows hugging the walls of the old, slightly dilapidated buildings.

 

Maybe he’s just hearing things.

 

Hand cautiously ghosting over his holstered gun, he continues his trek home. He tries to shake the feeling of being followed but it stays with him until he’s practically bounding up the stairs of his building, hastily throwing open his door and then locking it behind him. With a shaky breath, he collapses against it and takes a moment to inhale carefully, calm the rapid pounding of his heart.

 

The panic that’s been building slowly ebbs away.

 

It never gets any easier, the anxiety that creeps up on him, has him falling prey to the illusions his mind constructs. Since the fallout, Gavin’s pieced his life together with routines, needing the patterns to find some form of normalcy after nearly having his career derailed, his relationship with Connor irreparably damaged, and finding out he was never anything more to Nines than one of Kamski’s pawns. But even his routines could not keep the fears at bay, the sense that in some way, he’ still very much in Kamski’s web and that Kamski’s waiting for the right opportunity to strike. After all, Gavin’s not about to take any handouts from the drug lord and he’s a loose end who knows Kamski ordered the hit on Murphy and sent Nines to finish the job. And he has no doubt that for refusing to play ball and let Nines continue to manipulate him, Nines must have sent Connor that footage to discredit Gavin and ruin his career.

 

Gavin hopes that backstabbing fucker rots in the ground for the shit he did. The detective’s many things but he would have never fucked over Nines in the same way the asshole did to him.

 

“Mrow!”

 

He opens his eyes, glances down at the wide-eyed stare of his new housemate. Feeling a genuine grin come to his face, Gavin slides down to the floor, scratches the underside of the tuxedo cat’s chin. “The fuck you want, you lil’shit?”

 

‘Socks’ rubs his head in Gavin’s palm, purrs loudly as the detective indulges him. A silver, metal fish with the word ‘SOCKS’ inscribed on it hangs from his red collar. Gavin guesses the cat got his name from the patches of white on his paws. At first, he’d simply been feeding the cat after it had appeared in the parking lot a few months before, not sure if the cat had gotten lost or was abandoned. Socks is clearly a house cat and overly affectionate with people so the detective had thought _someone_ was bound to come by and find their pet.

 

But when a few days became a week, Gavin decided to drop off Socks at a nearby shelter to find out if the cat’s registered or chipped. Turns out, Socks is registered but his owner wasn’t returning any calls, leaving them to conclude the cat had been abandoned. So Gavin thought, ‘What the hell?’ and adopted the needy fucker. Best fucking decision he’s made in a long while.

 

In fact, the main reason he hadn’t slid into the depressive decline of a post break-up is because of the furry asshole.

 

“C’mon. Let’s get your furry ass fed before I gotta hear about it all night.”

 

As Gavin walks into the kitchen, pulling out a can of _Nutro_ wet food to open, Socks meows and rubs against the detective’s leg. Gavin’s almost surprised at how socialized Socks is, especially since the last cat he had, Dolores, had been the cat equivalent of the cuntiest character he could think of and had been aptly named that. He had loved the little fur bitch to death, devastated for weeks afterwards when he had to have her put down due to her failing health, but it didn’t change how anyone who valued their fingers and toes had to leave a wide berth around her unless she _wanted_ to be pet.

 

Once Socks starts digging into his dish, purring contentedly, Gavin’s phone begins to buzz. There are only two people who would bother calling him this late at night: his shit bag of a partner, probably to drag him out to a crime scene, or his best friend, most likely to rip him a new one for being the worst fucking date ever.

 

As he pulls out his phone, Gavin groans.

 

_Fuck._

 

Knowing better than to provoke the beast, he answers the phone. “Yeah?”

 

“What the FUCK, Gav?!”

 

Christ sake’s, he’s never wished this badly it was work.

 

“Guessing you, uh, talked to Rupert?”

 

He can practically hear the glare in her voice as Tina answers, frostily, “Yeah, I did. And I know you’ve got shit people skills but c’mon, Gav, you could have at least tried to not be an asshole _._ ”

 

“The fuck we were supposed to talk about? The shitty weather we’re having?”

 

“Or, you know, anything _else._ He said you spent half the night grunting and looking pissed off.”

 

“Sounds about right.”

 

“Gavin.”

 

Fucking hell. When did Tina start using that Connor tone on him? He wants to be more annoyed but he knows how much of a fucking killjoy he’s been the last few times he’s hung out with Tina and she’s only trying to help. He should have never agreed to that date.

 

“Maybe I’m just not that into him,” Gavin mumbles.

 

“Attractive, friendly, loves animals...sounds like just the kind of guy you wouldn’t go for,” Tina says, sarcastically. “Oh, right: and he thinks you’re hot as fuck, even though you’re kind of a dick. Totally not your type.”

 

“...he does?”

 

Gavin’s cheeks heat and he starts scratching his nose self-consciously.

 

“He’s got eyes, Gav.”

 

When Gavin doesn’t say anything, too flustered to respond, he hears Tina sigh. “I get things have been shitty lately. What Nines did—”

 

“I don’t want to talk about that asshole,” Gavin interrupts, embarrassed to hear his voice hitch. He coughs to cover it up, add gruffly, “I’ve just been busy as fuck with all that bullshit Chau has me doing. Don’t really have time to date.”

 

He’s beginning to regret having come clean to Tina about everything. She’s the only one besides Connor who knows what Nines was to him and while he senses she has her opinions on the shit he got himself into, she’s kept them mostly to herself. Besides swearing she’ll beat the shit out of Nines if she’s ever in the same room as him again.

 

There’s a pause on the line and Gavin can sense Tina’s hesitation. Still, it doesn’t stop her from adding, “Rupert’s not like them, Gav. If you give him a chance, I think he’ll be good for you.”

 

“C’mon, Chen...”

 

“Just...think about it. You guys got off to a rough start but I’m sure it’s nothing an apology can’t fix.” And with the way she says it, Gavin _knows_ Tina buttered him up to Rupert, probably used every excuse in the book to explain his shitty behavior on the date. As terrifying as it is, the thought of trying when he’s not sure if he’s ready, part of him knows that he has to move on sometime, especially if he wants to avoid slipping back into the emotional state he was in after Nines had left him that first time.

 

He’s not gonna let his baggage with Nines hold him back. Not like it had with Connor.

 

“No promises,” he says but he can hear the glee in Chen’s voice as they end the call.

 

Leaning against the counter, he stares down at the phone in his hand. He knows he should sleep on it, wait a few days before making a decision but with Tina’s words fresh in his mind, he can’t help but scroll through to the handful of messages him and Rupert exchanged the night before.

 

‘ _Rupert’s not like them, Gav.’_

 

And that may be just what he needs right now: someone less judgmental than Connor, who doesn’t seethe in silent resentment behind a tight-lipped smile until all those small aggressions boil over into a screaming match. And someone more honest than Nines, who doesn’t hide behind his many facades and manipulates everyone around him.

 

What Gavin needs is someone who isn’t a fucking _Stern_.

 

Exhaling nervously, he begins to type.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 4 11:03 PM]

_s_ _orry for the shitty date_

 

It looks pretty pathetic, as far as apologies go, so Gavin quickly adds:

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 4 11:03 PM]

_been busy at work n shit. was distracted_

 

His face burns as it sends and he realizes it makes him look like an asshole.

 

To his surprise, he gets a response almost immediately.

 

[Rupert Jan 4 11:04 PM]

_tina said u suck at this_

 

Fucking Chen.

 

[Gavin Reed Dec 7 11:04 PM]

_h_ _avnt dated n a while. im shit at it_

 

[Rupert Jan 4 11:05 PM]

_ya u r_

 

Irritated, Gavin begins to type something snarky but doesn’t have the chance to finish before he’s receiving Rupert’s next message.

 

[Rupert Jan 4 11:05 PM]

but no worries

 

[Rupert Jan 4 11:05 PM]

_i bet theres a fw things i cn teach u ;)_

 

A hot flush reaches the tips of his ears. He was expecting to have to talk Rupert up a bit, get back on his good side. But it seems Tina wasn’t kidding when she suggested Rupert’s into him.

 

Feeling flustered, he deletes his message. Then types. Then erases that, too. Finally, he settles on:

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 4 11:08 PM]

_i bet u cn ;)_

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 4 11:08 PM]

_that a promise?_

 

[Rupert Jan 4 11:05 PM]

_r u free fri?_

 

After setting the next date, they chat a while longer and Gavin realizes, once he actually puts the fucking effort in, that Rupert’s pretty great. He’s seen some of the same obscure Anime Gavin’s watched, read some of the same e-comics, and has a healthy addiction to pet videos, as well as owning a few parakeets and a sassy parrot. They exchange pet pics, though Socks manages to derp out every time Gavin tries to get a good pic of him so he is forced to send one of the cat rolled on his back, one eye open and tip of his tongue sticking out.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 4 11:41 PM]

_handsome fuckers posing jus for u_

 

[Rupert Jan 4 11:42 PM]

_u r? b_ _u_ _t all i c is ur cat_

 

And by the time Rupert’s telling him he needs to turn in for the night, Gavin’s feeling genuinely disappointed though even that can’t wipe the grin off his face.

 

Maybe he can do this, the whole dating thing.

 

It sure beats the few hookups he’s had since, as each of those times, he felt he was nothing more than a fresh piece of ass for his partner to stick his dick into. The sex was alright but the older he gets, the less he’s into the ‘thrill’ of a quick fuck.

 

As Gavin sprawls across his unmade bed, he goes through some of his unread messages, mostly stuff from the Lieutenant about a case he was assigned earlier. With a new drug on the streets, some shit people are calling ‘red ice’, their department’s been overwhelmed and almost everyone’s been working on narcotics. Well...everyone _except_ Gavin. He _was_ part of the red ice investigation but then he started asking too many fucking questions—evidently, the _wrong_ ones—and both Chau and Gonzales have all but benched him to keep him from prying too close to something that reeks of Kamski.

 

Gonzales is one of the good ones, doing the best to hold her head above all the shit as everyone at their precinct is being pulled into Kamski’s circle. But Chau may as well have ‘KAMSKI’S BITCH’ stamped to his god damn forehead with how deep he’s in with the drug lord.

 

Deciding he’s in no mood to deal with this shit tonight, he scrolls past those messages. His thumb lingers over a blocked number, unanswered texts dated from August 15th. The day after he found out about Nines.

 

10 unread.

 

He hesitates.

 

The most recent one, the words stark beneath the blocked contact, read simply: _Gavin, please._

 

Longing piques his curiosity and between the broken fragments caused by Nines’ deception, Gavin finds himself remembering the good: the moments he thought— _felt—_ that he was _everything_ to Nines and that Nines was _everything_ to him. Gavin had believed Nines was all he needed.

 

What a fucking load of shit all that turned out to be.

 

In a sudden burst of anger, Gavin swipes his thumb left across the screen. An option to delete all of the messages pops up and he does so impulsively, bringing himself to do the one thing he couldn’t in all the months those messages have remained on his phone.

 

He doesn’t need to know what the fuck that asshole said. Not any more.

 

Tossing the phone down, he gets up off the bed. “Socks, you furry fucker. Where the hell are you?”

 

He hears a mewling sound coming from his closet.

 

Burying that sick feeling he gets whenever he thinks of what Nines did to him, he drops to his knees and scratches the cat’s ear. “The fuck you doing in here?”

 

Socks purrs and curls up into the dress shirt he’s resting on.

 

As Gavin’s fingers touch the fabric, it’s as if the wind’s knocked out of him. The rich material and missing buttons, designer name etched into the tag, has his heart thudding dully. He remembers the gentle gasps that had echoed in his ears as he tongued at a pale throat, impatient fingers tearing open the shirt in his haste to remove it from its owner’s chest. He may have been reprimanded but there was no denying the desperate hitch in his partner’s voice, grays of his lover’s eyes disappearing in the smoldering lust shining in those blown pupils.

 

He doesn’t need Nines.

 

This is what he tells himself as he gently tugs the shirt from his cat, presses the fabric to his nose, and breathes the faded scent of familiar cologne and tobacco. He remembers how it had looked stretched across the gangster’s firm chest, how he could feel the warmth of Nines’ skin seeping through the thin material beneath his palm.

 

And for the first time in months, he cracks.

 

* * *

 

The Sixth is bustling with activity by the time Gavin rolls into work the next morning, tossing off his scarf and beanie before dropping tiredly into his chair. One look at the multitude of files on his desk and he’s inwardly groaning: he really shouldn’t have mouthed off to Captain Chau the other day about being benched. Something tells him this is gonna be his life throughout the rest of the winter.

 

From the desk behind him, Gavin hears someone clicking their tongue in disapproval.

 

“The fuck you say to piss Chau off?”

 

Terrence Hicks, the slimiest and most irritating prick Gavin’s had the misfortune of being partnered with, smirks obnoxiously as Gavin throws a glare over his shoulder. The detective practically flaunts his corruption in Gavin’s face, openly mishandled evidence at the last crime scene they were at--a drug bust on the east side—and seems to always know what to say to get right under Gavin’s skin. His grating, nasally voice certainly doesn’t help.

 

“How about you mind your own fucking business, Hicks,” Gavin snaps at him.

 

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

 

Gavin flips him off.

 

God, he hates this fucking job sometimes.

 

“Reed! I wanted that report on the Wilson case last night!” Chau calls from his office, before slamming the door behind him.

 

He _really_ hates this fucking job sometimes.

 

Glaring moodily at his desk, Gavin gets to work. Without Chen or Miller to distract him, he finds he gets work done a lot quicker, though the days tend to go by a lot slower. He never thought he’d miss having to deal with Anderson and Anderson but despite his anger towards Hank, Gavin’s always had a grudging respect for him and knows he’s a good guy, unlike Chau. And though Gavin gets on well with Lieutenant Gonzales—probably the only person at the Sixth he can fucking stand—he misses the easy camaraderie he used to have with Connor, before everything went to shit.

 

He only has himself to blame for that.

 

In truth, Gavin’s even more miserable at the Sixth on a ‘good day’ than he was on his worst ones back at the central station. He dreads coming in each day and dealing with his prick of a partner and the corrupt assholes botching all their investigations to keep some of Kamski’s guys from ever having to do hard time. Even when he was benched by Hank, at least the shit he was doing felt meaningful instead of the useless crap Chau’s assigned him, mostly to keep Gavin from sniffing around in Kamski’s business. Gavin’s already in hot water for bringing in a dealer working under Kamski the month before, expressly against the warning Hicks gave him. Since then, Chau’s been on a one-man mission to ruin Gavin’s life at work.

 

Step one of his plot to fuck over Gavin: take Gavin off Narcotics. With the explosion of red ice cases sweeping Detroit, precincts all over the city have been doubling their efforts to find those responsible and contain the drug epidemic. But all anyone can seem to do is throw the occasional ‘fall guy’ behind bars because nobody significant is fucking talking.

 

All this shit wouldn’t be happening if their prick of a mayor hadn’t implemented that new policy to turn Detroit into the first ‘Fossil Fuels Free’ city by 2044. With thirium the hottest commodity on the market, it was only inevitable that eventually _someone_ would find a way to turn the substance into something people could inhale and get high off of. And they say technology is supposed to make their lives better.

 

Worst of all, the use of thirium as an eco-friendly and more effective replacement for fossil fuels has turned Kamski into a billionaire overnight. Asshole’s practically untouchable now and Gavin’s got a feeling he knows just who is behind the red ice.

 

He glowers at his screen, hastily trying to finish up his report. He doesn’t want to think about how that asshole’s destroying the city but Gavin can’t go anywhere these days without seeing either Kamski’s face, or Cyberlife’s logo, advertised.

 

Detroit’s fucking poster child.

 

His phone buzzes, starling him from his thoughts. Rupert had sent him this funny compilation video of parrots pissing cats off this morning and he half expects him to follow it up with something equally entertaining. Instead, Gavin’s surprised to receive a message from an informant that helped him and Tina on a case in the summer. Traci’s a sex worker, with a clever tongue and zero patience for bullshit. She’s been working with Tina for years, after Chen helped get her off for accidentally killing a client who got violent with her and her friend. Chen’s ex, an attorney who specializes in cases of abuse, had only been too happy to take Traci’s case pro bono.

 

He unlocks the screen and checks the message. He had initially contacted Traci back when he was on Narcotics, as she was his best bet for finding some of the key players in the red ice dealings. He hasn’t told her yet he’s no longer in Narcotics but figures it can’t hurt to see what she’s found.

 

[T R Jan 5 10:03 AM]

_got sometin ur gonna like_

 

Lucky for him, some of Traci’s customers have very loose tongues.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 5 10:04 AM]

_u gonna keep me in suspense?_

 

[T R Jan 5 10:04 AM]

_u kno i like to keep ‘em waitin ;)_

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 5 10:05 AM]

_freaken tease_

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 5 10:05 AM]

_whatcha got?_

 

[T R Jan 5 10:06 AM]

_somethin bigs gonna go down fri night_

 

[T R Jan 5 10:06 AM]

_rumor is russians want in on the red ice_

 

Gavin’s not fucking surprised. Kamski shifted power in his favor when he took Murphy out last summer, leaving a dent in Detroit’s weapons and sex trafficking rings. Since then, the Russian mob has grown in influence and it was only time they get in on what Kamski’s producing.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 5 10:07 AM]

_where at?_

 

She sends him the address, an old warehouse at the docks, and a name. Always at the fucking docks. It reminds him almost too keenly of where he had ended up a year ago on that undercover case…

 

Pushing those thoughts aside, he promises to repay her but Traci rejects it, still feeling indebted for how Tina had helped her. He managed to slip her a gift card to her favorite coffee chain last time they met up and makes a note to buy another one before hitting the gym after work.

 

With the new information in hand, he takes a quick glance around the bullpen. Hicks is fucking around with one of the beat cops, bragging about whatever stupid shit he got up to the other night. Chau’s busy in his office and no longer busting Gavin’s balls over that dumb report. Nobody else seems to give a shit what Gavin’s doing.

 

Seeing an opportunity, he makes his way to Lieutenant Gonzales’ desk.

 

“Hey, Gonzales. You busy?”

 

She quirks a carefully shaped brow at him, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. Her thick curls bounce as she stops typing and turns to face him directly. “That depends. What you got for me, Reed?”

 

Taking one last look at Chau’s closed door, Gavin leans down and says, quietly, “New info. One of my guys says the Russians are looking to deal red ice.”

 

Her dark eyes flicker to the desks near them before she leans in closer. Her lips pull in a tight frown as she answers, even quieter, “Not here. Meet me outside in ten.”

 

He nods and heads back to his desk. He gets back to working on the report, finishing up the last touches and sending it to Chau before the prick decides to start getting on his case again about it. In that time, he sees Janice grab her purse and head to the elevator. He waits a bit longer before he grabs his smokes to meet her downstairs.

 

“Going out for a smoke?”

 

Gavin freezes and then sneers at Hicks, “The fuck’s it to you?”

 

“Thinking of heading down myself. Can I bum one off of you?”

 

He glares at him. Even if he could stand the asshole, he’s not about to let Hicks tag along and go snitching to Kamski about what his informant told him. He needs to shake him off before he reaches the elevator. “Buy your own damn cigarettes. Why you always gotta take mine?”

 

“Don’t be such a prick, Reed. All I’m asking for is one!”

 

“This shit’ll kill you. I’m doing you a favor.”

 

The doors to the elevator open and Gavin steps inside. He slams his finger on the button to close the doors just as Hicks steps in. “C’mon, Reed—”

 

“Hicks! Chau’s asking for you!” another detective calls to them.

 

Hicks glares suspiciously at Gavin before stepping back into the department. And just as Gavin had worried, it seems his small exchange with the Lieutenant hasn’t gone unnoticed.

 

_Fuck..._

 

No matter. It means he’ll have to make every second of their smoke break count. With this many eyes and ears on them, Gavin feels he can’t even take a piss without someone in the station making it their own personal business.

 

He kicks at the slush as he makes his way beneath the awning where Gonzales is standing. Despite the chill, it’s not nearly as bad as it was earlier in the week, though he hugs his arms around himself and fails to keep from shivering.

 

“I’ll have you know I’m breaking my resolution to quit,” Gonzales says, stopping to take a long drag from her menthols.

 

“Step one is tossing out the pack of cigs,” Gavin says, earning him a glare from the lieutenant.

 

If anything, she inhales more deeply from her cigarette.

 

“Longest I went was 2 months,” Gavin says, lighting his up. “Face it, Gonzales: we’re in this for the long haul, even if it fucking kills us.”

 

She chuckles and it’s such a relief to be away from all those two-faced assholes they work with that Gavin finds his mood picking up. They’re breaking regulations smoking this close to the building but Chau can come down here and slap a fucking fine to Gavin’s forehead for all the detective cares. “I’m sure my husband has different thoughts on that. But let’s get straight to it: you’ve got me out here freezing my ass off. This better be good, Reed.”

 

Though they are the only two out there, Gavin drops his voice. “There’s some deal going down tomorrow night. At the docks. Between Kamski’s guys and the Russians.”

 

“How good’s your intel?”

 

Gavin exhales and shakes off the ashes from his cigarette. “It’s good. Same guy who tipped me off about Baxter last month.”

 

“Got any names I can work with?”

 

“Just one. Zlatko Andronikov mean anything to you?”

 

The Lieutenant cusses, something Gavin rarely hears her do. She drops her cigarette and stubs it out. “We’ve been trying to bring him in, ever since those two bodies washed up from the Detroit river last July. I thought I finally had something to connect him to the murders but Chau ‘advised’ me not to get a warrant, said nothing I found would hold up in court.”

 

“That’s Chau-speak for ‘back the fuck off’,” Gavin mutters.

 

Janice nods. “If Kamski’s in bed with the Russians, we’ve got more than just red ice to worry about. They’ve taken over Murphy’s old turf and the east side’s already a complete mess.”

 

“So why don’t we follow it up, find out what the fuck Kamski’s up to? We can’t sit on something like this.”

 

“It’s not that easy, Reed,” Janice says, shaking her head. Her voice drops once again and Gavin can only just hear it above the sound of the passing traffic. “We’re both in deep water after you brought in Baxter. Chau’s keeping a shorter leash on both of us and right now, I’m dealing with Baxter’s lawyer threatening to press harassment charges.”

 

“The fuck?”

 

Gavin stares at her in disbelief.

 

“I didn’t want to say anything but after that judge overturned our warrant, Baxter’s lawyer claimed it was ‘police misconduct’ that led to the arrest and has been pursuing legal retribution,” Gonzales says, an angry hitch in her tone. “Chau says he’s talked them down but who knows what will happen if we go after another of Kamski’s guys.”

 

“Yeah, Chau always has our fucking backs,” Gavin says sarcastically, stubbing out his cigarette. “This is fucking bullshit.”

 

“It is. So if we make another move against them, we gotta make sure it’s the right one.”

 

Gavin perks up at that. He knew there’s a reason he likes Gonzales: she may be all but chained down to her desk but she’s still got the fight in her.

 

“You’re gonna stake out that warehouse, find out as much as you can about the deal between Andronikov and Kamski,” Gonzales says. “But don’t do anything stupid, Reed. All we need are faces; people we can connect to the scene. I don’t want you going in there alone.”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“I’m serious, Reed. You observe, that’s it. You’re gonna have no backup so don’t go taking any risks. I’d go with you but I’m on the night shift tomorrow and something tells me Chau will be hearing about it if I bounce for a few hours.”

 

Gavin’s about to protest that he can take care of himself when a voice carries above the sound of the traffic. “You two look serious. What’s the scoop?”

 

Fuck sakes. Why is it he can’t have five minutes alone without Hicks creeping up on him?

 

“Eat a dick, Hicks.”

 

Gonzales glares disapprovingly at Gavin and he actually feels his cheeks begin to color. He’s more used to being around people like Chen and Miller who don’t even blink when he runs his foul mouth.

 

“Something you need, Hicks?” Gonzales asks.

 

“Was gonna ask for a smoke.”

 

Gonzales tosses her pack to him. “Knock yourself out.”

 

He takes one and tries to hand it back to him but Gonzales refuses as she brushes past him. “Don’t you want these back?”

 

“I quit.”

 

Smirking, Gavin follows her back inside, leaving a bewildered Hicks beneath the awning. Let that asshole think what he will; Gavin’s not gonna let him or Chau intimidate him out of doing his fucking job.

 

* * *

 

Gavin’s hands shake as he glances through the binoculars, teeth chattering as he sweeps the surrounding area below. Crouched at the corner of the window, he has a perfect view of the entrance of the neighboring warehouse, owned by Kamski and otherwise left in a state of near disuse. He’s seen only two security guards circling around the building and managed to avoid detection as he sneaked into the old Ford warehouse beside it, long since abandoned after the company declared bankruptcy and discontinued production more than a decade before. At first, he thought he was being clever: hide out near the place where the deal was being done instead of his car, which he had to park nearly a half mile up the street to make it less conspicuous.

 

What he didn’t account for: below freezing temperatures in an abandoned building situated on the fucking river.

 

“W-where the f-f-fuck are you, Z-Zlatko?” Gavin shivers.

 

In hindsight, his finger-less gloves were a stupid choice. As much as he likes the look of them, they are doing him no favors in combating the cold.

 

Grumbling, he sets the small pair of binoculars down and rubs his hands together, blowing on them to try and get the blood circulating. It stings like a bitch, which is always a good sign. His beanie is pulled low enough that it covers his ears so at least only his face and fingers are left to the mercy of the elements.

 

Movement outside catches his attention and he sees a group of mostly men walking between the empty shipping containers toward the main boardwalk. As they are about to pass beneath one of the floodlights, Gavin hastily grabs his phone, trembling fingers fumbling to unlock the screen, and zooms in to capture a series of photos of the group. As he takes a look at the first photo he captured, his focus falls to the grim-looking expression of the man leading the rest of them, shoulder-length hair slicked back and sporting a thick beard peppered with gray hairs.

 

 _There you are, you fucker,_ Gavin thinks, recognizing Zlatko.

 

As he goes to take more photos, he sees Zlatko conversing with one of the security guards. The guard indicates to the abandoned warehouse and then Zlatko and his crew begin approaching the building Gavin’s hiding in.

 

The detective’s eyes widen.

 

_Shit shit shit!!!_

 

He had been told the docks. He assumed Kamski would use his own building for whatever business was about to be conducted. And if he doesn’t move his ass, he’s about to find himself smack in the middle of it.

 

Hidden behind some old crates on the balcony overlooking the main floor, Gavin pockets his phone and begins walking towards the nearest ladder that will take him down. The only other way up is a ladder set at the opposite corner of the loft space, which leads down to where the main doors are. As the old doors creak open loudly, Gavin drops to his knees, hoping that it buries the echo of his footfalls on the steel platform. Heart thudding wildly, his eyes water as the overhead lights flicker on and he tucks himself against the nearest crate.

 

Looks like this place isn’t as ‘abandoned’ as he thought.

 

Blinking away the colors dancing in front of his eyes, he peers around the crate into the space below. Zlatko is gesturing, saying something clipped in Russian, and his goons begin passing through the stacks of old crates, guns in hand.

 

Each one of them looks armed to the fucking teeth and Gavin knows he doesn’t want to find out what Zlatko does to overzealous detectives who can’t mind their own damn business.

 

He crawls swiftly to the next crate, wincing as his boot nicks the edge of it. His heart in his throat, he stops, waits, and then panics as he hears something barked in Russian.

 

“наверху!”

 

And from across the room, he sees one of the armed men begin climbing up the opposite ladder.

 

As quietly and carefully as he can, he makes it to the ladder closest to him. Blocked conveniently behind more empty storage boxes, he glances at the three-story drop: sudden nausea hits him as he recalls the last time he had fallen from such a distance, crumpling like a rag doll onto hard asphalt. But he buries the fear before he can drown in it, gripping the bars and hastily beginning his descent.

 

In his haste, he slips on the final rungs and falls, bruising his knee on the concrete floor.He bites his lip to keep from crying out in pain but it wouldn’t have mattered as the loud echo of the opposite warehouse doors being opened drowns out all other sounds in the old building.

 

Hearing heavy footfalls on the platform above him, Gavin has little time to nurse his wound. He hides from view of where he fell, situating himself where he can have a clear look at the center of the room without being seen. He hadn’t planned on being stuck in the warehouse with Zlatko but if he is, he’s gonna get as much evidence on the asshole as he can.

 

The goon descends from the ladder and makes his way swiftly to Zlatko. He whispers, hands something to the Russian gang leader, and Gavin’s eyes go wide as he sees his binoculars in the gangster’s hands.

 

_FUCK!_

 

Great. And now he’s gonna wind up fucking dead because his dumb ass couldn’t collect all his shit.

 

As the new group approaches, Zlatko sneers something Gavin has no fucking hope of understanding and tosses the binoculars at the tallest of the bunch. A leather-clad hand easily catches it, a pair of steely, gray eyes glancing over the item with disinterest. Gavin’s thumb lingers over the screen of his phone in the middle of the photos he’s capturing, eyes darting past it to stare at the man Kamski had sent. His stomach drops, blood flowing colder than the icy waters of the Detroit River, as he gazes at the face of the man whose bed he had once shared.

 

_Nines…_

 

His heart stutters.

 

He didn’t know Nines did drug runs. If anything, that shit is usually left to Kamski’s muscle, thugs who are as mean-looking as their criminal records.

 

When the fuck did Nines start dealing for Kamski?

 

Nines utters something back in Russian and there’s yet another fucking surprise. When in the fuck did the backstabbing asshole start speaking Russian?!

 

The two begin conversing animatedly and it becomes quickly clear that though they can understand one another, Nines’ Russian is only as good as it needs to be, his American accent thick in his clumsy pronunciation. Cold dread has Gavin gripping the crate numbly, a flurry of conflicting emotions making his insides twist: Nines’ gorgeous, unmarred face is absent of any expression, as beautiful as it had looked the moment before Gavin had struck him, blemishing his left cheek.

 

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking _fair_ that after everything, Nines gets to carry on unaffected, playing patsy to his precious Kamski and looking that fucking good in his pea coat and designer suit.

 

But of course he’s unaffected. He never gave a shit about Gavin.

 

And once again, Gavin’s burning with an unstoppable fury that has him pressing hard on the shutter button, just as he had in the aftermath of their breakup. That fucker nearly derailed Gavin’s career: so Gavin’s gonna make sure that asshole goes back behind bars for as much of his fucking life as the state of Michigan would allow.

 

Why in the fuck did they ever scrap those lifetime sentences for drug traffickers?

 

“Ralph can’t understand any of this,” one of Kamski’s guys complains.

 

Gavin does a double-take as the sandy-haired man turns his head and the detective gets a good look at the hideous scars carved into the left side of his face. His otherwise young and attractive appearance is viciously maimed by deep scarring that cuts through his brow, across his left temple, and in large lines along his cheek. His face looks crudely patched, not given time to properly heal, and Gavin finds he’s shuddering as he has to look away.

 

He’s seen those marks before, in henchmen Kamski deemed ‘indispensable’ but in need of discipline. He met one back when he was undercover, a quiet, brooding thug who simply went by the nickname “Scars”. It always unnerves him to witness the result of Kamski’s cruelty and the blind loyalty of the pricks who still follow him, even after the shit he put them through.

 

But maybe it’s not just loyalty. Maybe it’s fear that keeps their mouths shut and falling back in line.

 

Nines’ brow visibly twitches and the corner of his left lip pulls in a half-frown. “If there is anything you or anyone else is required to know, I will translate.”

 

He goes back to conversing in Russian but ‘Ralph’ is persistent. “Ralph doesn’t like not knowing.”

 

Nines gets that familiar look in his eyes, a silent rage that had him clutching the binoculars tightly. Gavin can only imagine how much the gangster must want to wrap his hands around the throat of his companion.

 

“Then perhaps _Ralph_ should wait outside while the adults talk.”

 

The gangster makes something of a pout, an expression Gavin thinks would look more endearing if it wasn’t overshadowed by the horrors etched into his flesh.

 

Angling the phone for a better shot, Gavin sets it to video. But just before he can start recording, the cold barrel of a gun presses hard into the back of his neck.

 

“я нашел его.”

 

The gunman yanks the phone from Gavin’s hands. All eyes turn to him as Gavin’s pulled to his feet and shoved towards the center of the room. Pain shoots up his leg as he’s forced to put weight on his injured knee but it’s nothing compared to the absolute apathy Gavin’s regarded with as he catches Nines’ impassive expression. There’s nothing at all warm in his cool gaze and it makes the raw ache the gangster left beneath his flesh burn anew with resentment.

 

The gunman goes to give the pilfered phone to Andronikov but Nines intervenes, plucking it from his grip. Both Russians look murderously at the gangster, who ignores them in favor of flicking through the series of photos Gavin has taken. Gavin instinctively reaches to take his phone back but the clicking of the gun behind him is the only warning he needs to pull back his arm.

 

“Well, well, you have been busy, Detective,” Nines says, a slow, half smirk pulling the left corner of his lip. The right twitches as if attempting to mirror the left side. There’s something almost off about his expression, something that Gavin can’t quite put his finger on. But he has little time to fixate on the oddness of it before the gangster’s adding, “It does beg the question: what does one do when they find a rat?”

 

“Kill it,” Zlatko answers, in perfect English.

 

The wide, lopsided smile on Nines’ face makes Gavin pale.

 

_Fuck!_


	2. Cleanin' You Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin finds himself caught in the middle of a gang fight that he may have sort of started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the awesome comments (and the great theories about Nines' face) for the last chapter! I think I've finally caught up with responding. I wanted to post this chapter yesterday but my body NOPED that and I crashed after my dance class XD. On the bright side, yay for healthy sleep patterns! I will try to follow a 7-10 posting schedule for this story so the next chapter will be coming out by the next weekend (unless I get super busy and have no time to edit). 
> 
> Those of you who have also taken interested in my series [Relationship: Gavin Reed [REDACTED]](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1201441): there is one more part that should conclude it but at this time, none of it has been written. Ideally, it would have been finished months ago but I had not anticipated how big this gangster-verse would get. I am hoping to write the conclusion once _Russian Roulette_ is completed.
> 
> Please check the updated tags before reading. This part has earned the E rating.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Sweat forms beneath the hem of Gavin’s beanie, though his eyes narrow as he stares down Nines. Or up. Fucking tree.

 

He’s not gonna give away the fact that he’s scared shitless, heart pounding erratically in his chest. There’s almost a maniacal glee on the gangster’s face as Gavin feels the barrel of the Russian thug’s gun press against the back of his skull.

 

The gun cocks. Zlatko opens his mouth, presumably to give the kill order, when Nines cuts in, “...yet, given the precarious nature of our negotiations, I would strongly advise against killing one of our cops. Detective Reed is one of Kamski’s and, I can assure you, any deal you wish to broker with my employer will be off the table if you harm him.”

 

Gavin stares at Nines in disbelief. _The fuck????_

 

Zlatko is also staring at the gangster with an equal level of surprise. “This cop is yours? Then why the fuck is he spying on us?”

 

He draws out his weapon, marches right into Nines’ space, and shoves the gun beneath Nines’ chin. Gavin reaches for his own on instinct, along with the rest of Nines’ crew, a sudden urge to protect the lying asshole overriding the lingering resentment of their fallout.

 

Nines raises his hand and every one of Kamski’s guys immediately lowers their guns, Gavin’s hand falling limply to his side. The gray eyes that flicker to his sparkle with interest. His impulse did not go unnoticed.

 

“You better not be playing me, Scar Face,” Zlatko hisses and Gavin doesn’t quite get why the fucker’s comparing Nines to Tony Montana, “or I’m sending more than your pet cop back in a body bag.”

 

Unbridled hatred burns in Nines’ eyes upon hearing the nickname, though he buries it beneath a forced half smile.

 

“We have many rivals in this city, Mr. Andronikov,” Nines answers, easily. “Our cops have been cracking down on those trying to claim neighborhoods currently under our control. Not all of our detectives are aware that we are in negotiations with you and your crew. Detective Reed must have thought—”

 

“Fuck sakes, I’m no dirty—!”

 

Gavin grunts out in pain as Ralph kicks his shin. Hard. “No interrupting the boss! Or Ralph will cut you!”

 

“No, Ralph _won’t_!” Nines snaps at the other gangster. “You are not to do anything unless I order you to! Do not make me—!”

 

“He took photos of us!” Zlatko says loudly, though he withdraws his weapon, steps back a few paces.

 

“And they have been deleted,” Nines assures him, turning his attention back to the Russian-American mobster. If he is unnerved by their exchange, he doesn’t let it show.

 

“Why should I be doing business with you if you can’t keep your own cops in line?”

 

“It was a simple misunderstanding. I will make sure Detective Reed and all of our other cops are aware that—”

 

“For the last, fucking time, I don’t work for this two-faced piece of shit!” Gavin snarls. “And all of you fuckers have five fucking seconds to drop your god damn weapons before S.W.A.T comes in here and opens fire on you fuck faces!”

 

Gavin hopes they buy his bluff, his hand lingering over his holstered firearm. He sees Zlatko startle, Ralph looking incredibly confused, and all the other mobsters glancing questioningly at their respective leadership. Nines, however, flickers his cool gaze back to the detective and gives Gavin a look that says he very much would like to strangle his uncooperative ex.

 

“You fucking idiot,” he whispers, angrily.

 

With an exasperated sigh, Nines lifts his gun, aims it right at Gavin, and fires.

 

The detective flinches as he feels the bullet whiz past his face, striking its target. The Russian thug behind him drops.

 

And that’s when everything erupts into chaos.

 

Before Gavin can even unholster his gun, Nines is grabbing him roughly, shoving Gavin back towards cover, and turning to open fire on the rival gang. Zlatko is shouting in Russian and then his goons are firing back, bullets flying all around them. Nines keeps Gavin behind him as they back up towards the nearest storage crates, shouting, “Find cover!” and then barking orders to Ralph and the others.

 

As Gavin hops behind one of the crates, he watches in horror as a bullet hits Nines directly in the chest.

 

“NINES!”

 

Nines stumbles, the backs of his legs hitting the crate and Gavin hastily pulls the gangster back into cover with him. Panic courses through the detective as he sees the hole in the gangster’s shirt but no blood, no indication of where the entrance wound is. His hands go flying to Nines’ chest, tearing open the top buttons of the expensive fabric, intending to find the wound so he can properly pressurize it.

 

Nines smacks his hands away, his expression going from shock to anger. “What the hell are you doing?! This is Versace!”

 

“You’ve been shot!”

 

But as soon as Gavin says that, he sees the dark kevlar vest beneath Nines’ shirt. He feels his face grow hot.

 

“I am not so shortsighted as to walk into a potential negotiation with an _arms dealer_ without properly preparing myself!” Nines snaps, pushing Gavin away from him. “And now, thanks to you, my shirt has not only a bullet hole but also missing buttons!”

 

“Fucking Christ, you can buy a new one!” Gavin snaps back, ducking his face to hide his embarrassment. Removing his gun, he fires a warning shot around the crates. It hits the wall not a foot from where one of Zlatko’s guys is firing at them. “A little help here!”

 

Nines fires and hits the left shoulder of goon, who cries out in pain. “Of all the moronic things you have done, this has to be the most stupid! Would it have been so difficult to ignore your pride for two seconds and play along?!”

 

“And let those assholes think I’m your boss’ bitch!?” Gavin shouts back, shooting and hitting another of the thugs in the leg as the thug’s exiting the warehouse. “Even I have enough self-respect to not work with that sleazebag!”

 

“I will ignore the implications of what you are saying and simply conclude that you are an imbecile with absolutely no motivation when it comes to self-preservation!”

 

“At least I’m not a backstabbing prick!”

 

“No, you are a halfwit who evidently would rather be dead than have your reputation suffer in the eyes of criminals!”

 

“You’re a fucking asshole!”

 

“And you’re an idiot!”

 

“Douchebag!”

 

“Juvenile name-calling? Really, Detective?”

 

“Bite me, asshat!”

 

“I do not have the patience for your dimwitted, infantile—!”

 

“Ooh, Ralph wants to play!” Someone says, making both of them jump. When in the fuck did that asshole get into cover with them? “Die, you rapscallions!”

 

Ralph forces his way between them, firing a series of shots over the crates, each time shouting an even more ridiculous insult. From the other side of him, Gavin can see Nines pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

The last of Zlatko’s guys exits the warehouse, leaving Gavin with Nines and the rest of Kamski’s thugs. Though Gavin’s seething with anger, ready to snap back at the gangster for his condescension moments before, he flinches visibly as Nines begins snapping orders.

 

“What are you waiting for? Go after them! Do not let any of them leave the docks!”

 

The harsh tone he employs has everyone scrambling out of the warehouse. Everyone, except Ralph.

 

Nines glares at the man standing beside him. “Were my orders not clear or have you not been paying attention?”

 

Even Gavin feels a chill creep down his spine at the iciness dripping in each syllable. Ralph, for whatever reason, seems not the least bit worried, even grins in a deranged way and chuckles.

 

“Ralph wants to help! Let him get rid of the body!”

 

Gavin glances at the dead gangster in the middle of the room, blood pooling the floor beneath him from the bullet wound in his skull.

 

“Ralph can be of more help if he brings me Zlatko,” Nines says, punctuating each word with growing impatience.

 

“But Ralph—”

 

“Now, Ralph!”

 

Ralph pouts and dejectedly heads towards the exit. In a fucked up way, Gavin almost feels sorry for the trigger-happy kid. But seeing as he is trying so hard to please Nines, Gavin knows, from firsthand experience, how much of a lost fucking cause that is. The obnoxious prick cares only about himself.

 

And Gavin’s angry all over again.

 

“If you think I’m letting you walk the fuck out of here—”

 

“Save the blustering for when you have an audience, Detective,” Nines interrupts, changing the clip in his gun. “It is wasted on me since we both know you are all talk.”

 

“You fucking—!”

 

He grunts out in pain as Nines pulls him up to his feet by his leather coat, a stinging sensation shooting up his left leg. Nines’ expression softens minutely, his grip on Gavin’s jacket easing, before he’s schooling his face in a neutral look.

 

“You’re injured.”

 

“No shit,” Gavin snaps, shoving Nines back. It forces him to put even more weight on his hurt knee but he bears it.

 

“Can you walk?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Gavin.”

 

The detective glares when he’s given a nonplussed look. “The fuck do you care anyway?”

 

“Because I am going to escort you back to your vehicle.”

 

“Over my ass, you are!”

 

“Gavin...” Nines starts, his voice edged with irritation, “your interference this evening not only cost my employer a lucrative business proposal but now I must also deal with a dead body, which—” he says, louder, as Gavin attempts to interrupt him, “would never have happened had you _cooperated_ and kept your mouth shut! I prevented Zlatko from having you killed and all I am asking is that you allow me to bring you _safely_ to your car before you have the chance to do something else moronic.”

 

“...you gonna give me back my phone?”

 

Nines glowers at him. “You may have it back _after_ we reach your car.”

 

“Prick,” Gavin mutters, hobbling towards the exit.

 

As he feels Nines attempt to help him walk, he elbows the gangster hard in the chest. Nines grunts in pain and Gavin imagines its bruising from the impact left by the bullet he took. Good.

 

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

 

Nines does as Gavin orders, silently holding the door open for him. Though he’s wearing his poker face once more, Gavin thinks he can almost see something remorseful in the gangster’s eyes but he forces that thought aside. He knows better now.

 

They don’t say anything to each other as they make it to main road leading off the docks. Gavin assumes Nines is simply trying to monitor him, keep him from calling backup and reporting what he witnessed. Not that there would be many at the Sixth jumping to investigate. The gangster’s continued silence is to be expected when he probably wants to be rid of Gavin so he can get back to dealing with the aftermath of the shootout.

 

In Gavin’s case, he doesn’t trust himself to not say something incriminating, give away what he’s really feeling. It’s a lot easier to be pissed off because at least he can pretend there isn’t a sadness and longing he’s been forced to bury, how there is still a part of him that’s so viscerally affected by the gangster’s presence. The only way he’s survived their breakup is by being angry, to avoid sinking into the bleak empty state that his past breakups have left him in. He’s willing to bet if he could be bothered to pay for therapy, he’d be told his coping mechanisms are another form of self-destruction but he’ll be damned if he lets that heartless fucker have so much power over him any more.

 

Gavin, however, is petty, and as they begin the final stretch towards where he parked, he can’t help himself. “Doing drug runs for Kamski? The fuck you do to get demoted?”

 

Nines tenses, answering coolly, “What makes you think I haven’t always done this for Kamski?”

 

“Don’t feed me that shit, Stern: Con and I spent years in Narcotics. I know the kind of fuck ups pricks like Kamski send to distribute.” He smirks as there’s an evident crack in Nines’ mask. “Must have done something to really piss that asshole off. He take away your fancy toys, too?”

 

As they pass beneath one of the bright street lamps, he gets that strange sense as he had earlier, of something not being quite right about Nines. They’re walking side-by-side, Gavin having to push his shorter legs to keep up with Nines’ longer strides. But as the light casts over the right side of Nines’ profile, Gavin feels there’s almost something too smooth, too _unnatural_ with the lack of imperfections on his face.

 

...when did he have the freckles on his cheek removed?

 

Gray eyes flicker over to his and Gavin feels his cheeks heat as he’s caught staring, looks away. He almost feels guilty for being such an asshole. Almost.

 

“I will not let you antagonize me, Detective.”

 

The forced calm in Nines’ voice grates on Gavin’s nerves.

 

“Yeah, well, if this is the shit you get for me figuring out what you two fuckers were up to, you deserve fucking worse,” Gavin says, becoming angry as he thinks about the last time he saw Connor. “You sending Con that video and trying to ruin my fucking life is a new low, even for you, Stern.”

 

To that, Nines doesn’t say anything and Gavin really wishes he would. He wants Nines to snap back, to give him a reason to fan the flames of his rage and unleash it on that asshole for all the ways he’s destroyed Gavin. But, because he knows Gavin that well, Nines remains silent and it’s his refusal to even acknowledge Gavin’s digs that infuriates the detective even more.

 

“You finally out of fucking excuses?” Gavin sneers. “Or is this all the fucks you ever gave? I get why Con never said shit about you: I’d also want to forget being related to a heartless prick!”

 

While Gavin can’t expect Nines to care about their history together, there is one thing he can count on: anything involving Connor striking a nerve with the taller twin.

 

A dark look crosses over Nines’ face and he rounds on Gavin, the detective stepping back instinctively. His back collides with a street lamp as Nines closes the distance, looming over him like a wild beast on the verge of sinking its teeth into its cornered prey. There’s a wild thundering in Gavin’s ears and he realizes it’s his heart.

 

“And what would you have me say, Detective, to pacify everything that you have accused me of?” Nines asks, a threat underlying his soft-spoken words. Yet Gavin sees an unpredictable fury dancing in the pools of his eyes and it leaves an excited trill racing down the detective’s spine.

 

With a snarl, Gavin shoulder checks Nines and storms over to his car, ignoring the burning pain in his knee. “My car’s over here, asshole.”

 

His pulse is racing wildly, skin warm where the gangster’s breath had fallen against his cheek. It pisses him off that all he wanted was something— _anything_ —other than the indifference Nines has treated him with. Instead, he finds himself wanting to give in to desires he knows he shouldn’t have.

 

He doesn’t want anything to do with that prick. And the sooner he gets out of here, the better.

 

His shaking fingers are digging around in his pockets for his keys when Nines’ voice cuts in, “...it seems you are late for drinks with Rupert.”

 

Gavin curses. How in the fuck did he forget about his date tonight?!

 

He snatches his phone from Nines’ hands, feels the tips of his ears heat from his blush. “Don’t read my fucking notifications!”

 

Yet unlike every other exchange they’ve had this evening, there’s something downright sinister about the curling of the left side of Nines’ lips, visible frown lines stark as his brows narrow, and he demands, with barely veiled anger, “Who is Rupert?”

 

If it wasn’t already winter, Gavin would be chilled to the bone. But he’s already running hot on the ire Nines has been fueling all night and snaps back, with no consideration at all to his well-being, “None of your fucking business, Stern.”

 

“Why am I not surprised you respond with the same maturity as you do all things?”

 

“You got something to say, Stern, you can fucking say it! Maybe be god damn honest for two seconds of your fucking existence!”

 

Nines chuckles without any genuine mirth, the rage in his eyes a contrast to the lopsided smirk on his lips. Fuck, does Gavin want nothing more than to punch that look off his pretty face. “I escorted you to your car and had to endure the misfortune of your company for the better part of a half hour. You must excuse me for cutting this confrontation short, Detective, but I have had my fill of you for the night and would rather end it before I give myself a migraine. I wish you well on your ‘date’.”

 

The biting sarcasm causes Gavin’s thin patience to snap and before he can help himself, he’s unholstering his gun and cocking it at Nines’ retreating backside. “Take one more step, Stern, and I’m unloading my gun on your ass!”

 

“Detective, we both know you will not—”

 

To his credit, Nines doesn’t flinch as Gavin fires a warning shot near his foot, bullet sinking into the cement. However, he visibly stiffens and it gives Gavin a satisfying thrill to know that for the first time all night, he’s got one up on the fucker.

 

“Richard Nines Stern,” Gavin declares, with a wide smirk on his lips, “your drug peddling ass is under arrest. You have a right to remain silent and to an attorney and all that fucking jazz. Hands behind your head and back the fuck up slowly!”

 

“Detective,” Nines says carefully, though Gavin can’t help but detect a hint of that ever-present condescension, as the gangster does as commanded, “I believe that your glossing over of my Miranda Rights is a breach of U.S. law.”

 

“Cry me a fucking river, Stern.”

 

“Given your temperament and tendency to act irrationally, I will allow this to continue.”

 

And that’s the wrong thing to say, Gavin shoving his gun back in its holster so that he can throw Nines down over the hood of his car. The gangster grunts as his bruised chest slams against the car’s surface and Gavin gets a rush over seeing the smug asshole bent forward, arm pulled back as Gavin cuffs the first wrist. Nines offers no resistance when Gavin grabs his other wrist.

 

“May I ask for what I am being arrested for?” the gangster asks, amusement in his tone.

 

“Dealing ‘red ice’, murder, pissing me off...take your fucking pick.”

 

“Though I have no desire to entertain what is quickly turning into a gross example of police misconduct, I do love it when you play rough with me, Gavin,” Nines practically purrs.

 

He wiggles his ass against Gavin’s half-hard cock and it’s only then that the detective becomes aware that he’s been pressing into Nines as he’s been cuffing him, dick spurring to life the more the gangster has egged him on. Fuck, does it feel good, a groan spilling off Gavin’s lips before he can help himself. But then he’s remembering _who_ this is and _what_ he’s done and Gavin’s viciously pulling back, forcing Nines upright and spinning him around. Pinned between Gavin and the car, the gangster’s giving him that lopsided smirk again as he’s looking down his nose at the detective.

 

“I always knew you had it in you,” Nines says, his voice a sultry whisper, “It seems all you’ve ever needed is a little encouragement.”

 

“The fuck you talking about?”

 

“That you may pride yourself in thinking you are better because of your badge. But I _know_ you, Gavin: everything you’ve ever done has been for yourself.”

 

Gavin knows he shouldn’t listen, knows this is the sort of shit that Nines gets off on: the manipulative fuck can talk himself out of anything and Gavin’s always been an open book for him, made it easy for him to burrow so deep inside that the moment Gavin ripped himself away from Nines’ influence, it left him permanently damaged: like ridding himself of a deadly parasite that’s been feasting off his flesh for years. The scars will always be there and even as Nines rakes his eyes over Gavin, the detective gets the distinct feeling the gangster can see each one of those invisible marks he left behind.

 

“Fuck you, Stern,” Gavin whispers, lips curling in a sneer. “You’re a fucking murderer and a red ice dealer. Assholes like you are better off rotting in a prison.”

 

“And yet...funny, how these aspects of my character never seemed to bother you before, not when we were fucking.”

 

To have everything that they were diminished to such a simple, crass word, stings in a way that Gavin doesn’t expect.

 

“You manipulated me. That’s what you fucking do! It’s your god damn MO: and yeah, I fucking fell for it! That what you want to hear?”

 

“Are you so incapable of independent thought that you must hide behind your tired excuses to rationalize why you let me get away with what I was doing when it most benefited you?” Nines asks, his voice a seductive purr. His breath condenses in hot wisps against Gavin’s skin as he leans in, lips ghosting the detective’s ear. “Face it, Gavin: I make you feel _good_ in ways no one else can. And you _love_ it.”

 

The use of the present tense strikes Gavin with the intensity of a thousand volts, has him instinctively shoving the gangster back to create some space between them. His hands are shaking, pulse racing, and words of denial are spilling off his lips, each one echoing as false to his ears as they feel on his tongue. “Get the fuck over yourself, Stern! I walked away from your bullshit months ago!”

 

“Methinks the detective doth protest too much,” Nines practically sings, his cruel chuckle making Gavin feel sick. How it took him so long to realize that this, _this,_ is who Nines truly is, has Gavin sinking in his own shame for being so god damn clueless. “You are as transparent as you have always been, Gavin. If you need to arrest me to make yourself feel better, by all means, _proceed._ ”

 

“You tried to ruin my life, why the fuck shouldn’t I try and ruin yours?”

 

“Ah, and there it is,” Nines says, with a triumphant smirk. “Your motivation. All your babbling about doing the noble thing by ridding the streets of another criminal. But it’s still all about you, isn’t it? Do I still need to draw a diagram for you or have you had your fill of your own denial?”

 

The truth of it hits Gavin like a freight train, has him reeling with self-disgust. Because Nines is fucking _right._

 

“Well, Detective, since you are so insistent on carrying through with your—admittedly, ‘unlawful’ arrest, I will play along. I will go with you to the station, I will confess to everything—even Murphy because, after all, you care so much about doing the _right_ thing and are not at all motivated by your petty outrage.”

 

_Petty?!_

 

The violations of his privacy. The destruction of his career at the DPD central station. The ashes of his relationship with Connor. The fact that he gave _everything_ to Nines, only to be made a fool.

 

His outrage, if anything, is everything _but_ petty.

 

Gavin’s practically foaming at the lips as he grasps Nines by the collar of his overpriced wool coat, spittle splashing on Nines’ cheek, as he shouts, “You fucking….!”

 

And in his rage, he releases the gangster, yells and slams his fist on the car’s hood. The raw cry echoes in the air around them and Gavin’s breathing hard as his eyes well, pain bursting along his knuckles. It’ll bruise—fuck, will it ever—but he knows that if he hadn’t, his fist would have made contact with Nines’ insufferably perfect nose.

 

He grunts, swallowing deep breaths to calm the thumping in his chest. When he opens his eyes, a pair of handcuffs dangle in front of his face.

 

“I think I’ve made my point,” Nines says, with the same kind of smug satisfaction of an animal trainer having finally tamed a disobedient pet. “A word of advice, Detective, if I may: next time you make an arrest, be sure to check the pockets of whoever you are handcuffing.”

 

In the low-lighting from the streetlight overhead, Gavin sees the glint of a pin in Nines’ other gloved hand. Master fucking escape artist.

 

He snarls as he snatches back the handcuffs but, in truth, there is no more fight in him. The thought of arresting Nines seems suddenly more exhausting and right now, Gavin wants nothing more than for the gangster to crawl back to whatever cesspool birthed him.

 

“Get the fuck outta here,” the detective whispers, voice heavy.

 

He doesn’t look at the gangster as his boots crunch in the thin layer of snow on the sidewalk, doesn’t want Nines to see the humiliation splashed in deep shades of red across Gavin’s cheeks. He’s been played once again and Nines _knows_ it, wants him to drown in the shame of his own defeat.

 

But he’s taken not two steps before Gavin hears him say, in words that barely carry above the noise of the nearby river licking at the Detroit shoreline, “Not that I expect you to believe me but I wasn’t the one who compromised you at the DPD. I...may have done things that hurt you, Gavin, but I would never have done that _._ ”

 

And as Gavin’s eyes flicker to Nines’ retreating backside, he tells himself it’s another lie, one fabricated to fuck with his head. It has to be a lie because he can’t believe otherwise, knows that doing so would be placing himself back in that warehouse room, barrel of the gun pressed to his temple as he pulls the trigger. Only this time, they’re playing a higher stakes game where all but one of the chambers is empty.

 

Gavin’s not that stupid any more. He knows the risks and isn’t about to bet against himself.

 

Yet Nines’ words stay with him for a long time after and though he tells himself he doesn’t believe the lying asshole, he’s horrified to realize that part of him _does_.

 

* * *

 

Gavin’s always been impulsive. It’s one of his worst traits and all it takes is for shit to go sideways for him to indulge in any of his toxic urges, throw away months of careful rehabilitation for a quick thrill. He’s rock hard as he speeds down the streets, Nines’ voice a lingering whisper in his head. His ear burns from where hot breath caressed his skin and he involuntarily trembles as he recalls the wildness in the gangster’s eyes.

 

“ _I make you feel good in ways no one else can. And you love it.”_

 

Gavin shouldn’t have messaged Rupert back. He should go home before he does something stupid. But he’s running hot on his own adrenaline, needs something to unleash all his frustrations onto.

 

By the time he’s pounding on Rupert’s door, Nines’ seductive words are buried so deep in his brain, not even the echoes of his fist on wood can drown them.

 

The door flings open, a dark set of eyes glaring at him. Rupert’s lips are pulled in a firm line, a mix of anger and hurt. Gavin deserves it. He deserves everything Rupert’s ready to throw at him for that dick move he pulled tonight and yet he can’t bring himself to care.

 

“You have some nerve—”

 

He doesn’t give Rupert time to finish, is kissing him ravenously before the other man seems to know what’s happening. Hands press weakly to Gavin’s shoulders in a feeble attempt at resistance but Rupert’s mouth parts the moment Gavin’s tongue seeks access, begins kissing the detective back with the same feverish resolve. Gavin recalls Tina saying it’s been a while for Rupert and his desperation is clear in the messy way his lips mesh against Gavin’s. It’s not nearly as forceful, as thorough, nor as possessive as Gavin wants—and he knows damn well _whose_ mouth that is—but it’s the next best thing.

 

“You stood me up,” Rupert protests, voice hitching as Gavin slides his tongue across the younger man’s throat.

 

He grips Rupert’s hips, tugs them right against his, satisfied to feel his full cock press against Rupert’s. “Told you I got held up at work.”

 

Rupert practically whines as Gavin rolls his hips against his, though his obvious desire for the detective does little to temper the scathing tone he employs as he says, “You should have messaged me sooner. I—ah, waited _2 hours_ for you at that bar!”

 

“Was distracted,” Gavin answers noncommittally, thinking of gray eyes and a lopsided smirk.

 

“You’re an asshole.”

 

Gavin tongues the inside of his mouth, his cock digging insistently into Rupert’s thigh. As Rupert tugs him towards his bedroom, the detective says, “Not the first time I heard that.”

 

His outerwear is discarded first, beanie and gloves tossed somewhere in the living room. He hears birds squawking somewhere in the background but all he cares about is getting out of his clothes, sliding his naked flesh against Rupert’s.

 

When the backs of Rupert’s legs hit the edge of the bed, Gavin pushes him down, straddles the grad student’s lap. He pulls Rupert’s shirt off, causing soft, light brown bangs to fall across his pale forehead. It only adds to his boyish features, large, brown eyes gazing lustfully up at Gavin, though there’s something almost naively innocent about the way he’s looking at the detective that, for a brief moment, reminds him so viscerally of the first time him and Connor got together. There’s blind _trust_ in how he takes Gavin’s face in his hands, in how easily he offers himself to the detective, that Gavin feels a dull, numbing guilt percolate in his chest.

 

“You got lube and condoms?” he rasps out, breaking eye contact to rake his gaze down Rupert’s chest. He can’t look any longer into the lust-blown pools of the other man’s eyes because he knows he won’t be able to go through with this.

 

“I...y-yeah,” Rupert answers, awkwardly stretching across the bed to reach for something on the night stand.

 

Gavin takes that opportunity to stand up and remove the rest of his clothing. Though he’s still harder than a rock, some of that initial fire has left him as he’s confronted with his own shame for becoming just like the kinds of assholes who have used his attraction to them to get off, taken advantage of him when he was in a fragile emotional state.

 

Fuck, it’s what Nines did.

 

So he tells himself that Rupert’s made his choice and that Gavin never promised him anything. It’s not his fucking problem if the younger man reads anything into Gavin wanting a quick fuck.

 

He tugs Rupert forward, kisses him sloppily, the bottle of lube falling to the sheets. Rupert gasps against his mouth as Gavin nibbles on his lower lip. Hesitant hands grip at his shoulders, slowly move to slide across the definition of muscle that’s filled out in the evenings Gavin has spent pumping iron. Rupert seems almost out of his element, though eager, so Gavin helps him along.

 

“You gonna fuck me or spend all night feeling me up?” he teases, stroking Rupert through his unzipped jeans.

 

He tugs playfully on Rupert’s lower lip, pulling it between his teeth. His current bed mate is so captivated by Gavin that all he can really do is nod dumbly, hand trailing low on Gavin’s back to squeeze the detective’s ass. So Gavin takes him by the wrist, picks up the lube, and then squeezes a generous amount into Rupert’s palm.

 

“Fuck me open.”

 

And once Gavin’s on his hands and knees, ass bent in the air and legs spread, clumsy fingers slowly press into him and Gavin grips at the sheets with a low moan. He encourages Rupert with crass pleas and wanton sounds, though the pressure is never quite the way he wants it, the thickness of his fingers lacking the length and the confident rhythm that Gavin craves. But it’s close enough that by the time Rupert’s sheathed cock slides into Gavin, the detective’s burying his face in the covers and uttering a whine so filled with need, it leaves his thighs trembling.

 

It’s been almost a month since Gavin last hooked up with someone and fuck, does he need this.

 

As Rupert begins to move, thrusting with an unsteady rhythm into the detective, Gavin rocks back to impale himself on the grad student’s cock, moaning all kinds of nonsense, most of which gets swallowed by the sheets. Eyes shut, he submerses himself in the sensation of being fucked, imagines it’s someone else taking him from behind, with the relentless desperation of one so touch-starved, they devour the meager helpings of what little affection Gavin’s willing to offer. It doesn’t matter that the hips that slap against his each time Rupert’s dick drives into him are wider, doesn’t matter that Rupert’s cock is not as long and thick as the one he’s picturing...all Gavin cares about is that _someone’s_ cock is inside of him and from there, his mind can fill in all the blanks.

 

 _Nines,_ he thinks, groaning and grasping at the sheets, _oh fuck, Nines!_

 

He spills almost as soon as Nines’ hand grasps his dick, white exploding behind his closed lids. With a shudder, he becomes near boneless as Nines milks him dry, the inept grip on his cock not enough to shatter the illusion. Wave after wave of euphoria explodes from his core, each less vivid than the one before, as he collapses down onto the sheets.

 

Nines soon follows, Gavin’s name uttered in broken syllables when he cums. It’s the lack of deep, rich timbre, the way his voice pitches in a tone less familiar, that strips the haze of his fantasy, brings Gavin crashing back to reality.

 

As Rupert collapses forward, head dropping to the back of Gavin’s shoulder, the detective feels slivers of sinking dread numb him until even he can no longer pretend it’s guilt that’s left him feeling like this.

 

There’s a reason why his last few hookups involved a lot of fucking alcohol.

 

“Wow,” Rupert pants, the awe in his voice sounding foreign to Gavin’s ears.

 

He extracts himself carefully, removes the condom to toss in a nearby bin. Gavin stretches completely, still keeping his back to Rupert, resting his head on one of the pillows. His thigh slides into the globules of cum he left on Rupert’s covers and never has he felt more disgusted to have his own fluids touch his skin.

 

A body sidles up behind him, arm thrown across his waist. Kiss-swollen lips press to the back of his neck and Gavin can’t take it any more.

 

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks, pulling away to sit up at the edge of the bed.

 

He feels, more than sees, the frown on Rupert’s face. “I...guess it’s alright.”

 

Gavin finds his coat and takes out his mostly empty pack of menthols and his lighter. As a compromise, he leans against the edge of Rupert’s dresser, opens the window wide enough so he can exhale out of it. Rupert has no balcony and it’s better than going down four flights of stairs to indulge his sudden urge for nicotine.

 

He’s not left alone for long, as Rupert joins him. The younger man shifts his balance awkwardly between his feet, clearly unsure of what to make of Gavin’s behavior. To put him at ease, Gavin slides an arm around Rupert’s waist and allows the other man to kiss him softly.

 

“That was...”

 

“Best you’ve had in a while?” Gavin finishes, with a smirk.

 

A deep blush splashes across Rupert’s face, who can only bring himself to nod.

 

Gavin flicks off the ashes from his cigarette, inhales deeply, and lets the sweet nicotine sit in his lungs.

 

“I don’t usually top,” Rupert admits, shuffling awkwardly once more.

 

That much was obvious but Gavin knows better than to stick his foot in his mouth with that snide remark. In truth, it’s probably better than Gavin would have done given that he usually needs to have some sexual history with his partner before he gets comfortable enough to switch things up.

 

“I wasn’t that bad, I hope,” Rupert says, with a bit of a nervous chuckle. Gavin exhales and gives the other man a questioning look. “You kept saying a number. Gotta admit, I’m not really used to being graded while doing...you know, _that._ ”

 

Gavin’s eyes widen but he’s looking away before Rupert can see the surprise on his face. There’s a tightness in his chest, as if his lungs have been gripped in a vice and the air is slowly being squeezed from them. Putting out his cigarette on the snow left on the windows edge, he flicks the butt outside. “I should get going. Have to work in the morning.”

 

The part about work is true, though it’s never stopped him from spending the night somewhere. But it almost feels like the room is becoming smaller and that the longer he stays here, the quicker he’ll succumb to this temporary bout of claustrophobia.

 

Rupert looks disappointed but doesn’t call Gavin out on his shit. The detective makes some comment about texting him later but even he can’t be sure if he really means it as he hastily gets dressed. Before he leaves, he lets Rupert kiss him once again and has to force a shaky smile on his lips as they part.

 

“Text me when you get home. The roads get icy this time of night,” Rupert says, looking a bit awkward.

 

Gavin promises he will.

 

He won’t.

 

From over Rupert’s shoulder, Gavin sees a colorful parrot on its perch. The bird looks straight at him and, much to Gavin’s horror, squawks out something that sounds like, “Nines! Nines!”

 

Rupert startles and then glances over at his pet with a laugh, blush filling his cheeks. “Perry, would you stop doing that!”

 

The color drains completely from Gavin’s face. He mutters something in parting and quickly makes for the stairs.

 

It’s not until he’s in the safety of his car, exhales coming out in white wisps of air, that he feels the severity of his panic. He drops his head to the steering wheel, gasps and shakes as his car heats up, and not even the familiar tunes from his favorite station can silence the utter shame that comes with knowing that he messed up. That he feels _wrong_ in a way he shouldn’t because the hands and lips that have ravished his flesh were not Nines’.

 

He wanted them to be. And that just makes it worse.

 

It’s well after 3 AM by the time he makes it home. Socks is stretched out across the bed, mewls a sound as Gavin kicks off his boots. But Gavin doesn’t crawl into bed just yet, goes right for the closet on unsteady legs and collapses to his knees. There’s a stinging from his bruised knee that he ignores, fingers clutching at the familiar fabric and he stares down at the shirt in his hands.

 

In a cry of rage, he pulls and pulls until the fabric tears, the arm ripping away at the seam. His cheeks are wet as he glares down at the offending cloth and his eyes fall to the label mocking him.

 

Fucking Versace.


	3. Can't Say No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin finds himself caught in a rough spot when Gonzales follows up on his stakeout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your continued support! I enjoyed reading all the comments and everyone's theories on how Nines hides his scars. They are still very much there so that will rule out corrective surgery. Magic remains my favorite theory, by the way ;)
> 
> A lot of you seem to have sympathy for Rupert and, yeah, I feel ya. This story is not meant to be a love triangle and it is made clear that Gavin's engaging in some fairly despicable behavior by using Rupert to get over Nines. So if you're in the #rupertdeservesbetter camp, I am right there with you.
> 
> As always, keep an eye on updated tags to make sure you want to keep reading. I will try and get the next part up by next weekend (and boy, is it pretty emotionally heavy) but I somehow ended up with both volunteer work AND overtime work next Saturday and am already dreading how dead tired I will be. I am optimistically aiming for a Sunday update but we'll see.
> 
> Enjoy!

Getting up early on a Saturday is always the worst. Gavin’s tempted to roll out of bed at the last second, with only enough time to quickly throw on some clothes and a few minutes to heat up his car, but the mewling little shit pawing at his face reminds him it’s time to get his ass into gear and be a responsible adult. He grumbles and tries to swat away Socks’ paw but the asshole bites on the fleshy part of his palm and Gavin gives up sleeping.

 

“6 AM every day, like fucking clock work,” he complains, glaring at the cat.

 

The cat’s tail swishes from side to side.

 

“Yeah, yeah: I’ll fucking feed you. Asshole.”

 

Gavin trudges out of bed, picking up the nearest shirt to throw on. He ends up with the ripped Versace shirt and winces as he recalls his breakdown from only hours before.

 

It’s in the trash quicker than he can repress the embarrassment from the series of stupid mistakes he made last night. He should have never hid out in that fucking warehouse during a stake out.

 

Shivering in his underwear as he feeds his cat, his treacherous thoughts slip back to what he had witnessed. For months, he’s had this paranoia that he’s a loose end Kamski’s waiting to tie off so why hadn’t Nines let Zlatko’s guy finish him off? It would have killed two birds with one stone: Kamski gets rid of the one person who Nines confessed to and none of his thugs would have to get their hands dirty. And while there is a small part of him—a part Gavin will _deny_ until he’s blue in the face—that wishes he had meant _something_ to Nines, Gavin’s not deluded enough to think that’s the reason Nines fucked up a deal to save him.

 

There has to be something else, something that Gavin’s missing…

 

The alarm on his phone goes off and Gavin’s stumbling back into his bedroom to shut it off. When he goes to open the screen, he sees the notifications from Rupert.

 

Fuck...just, _fuck._

 

He really just _can’t_ right now.

 

So he hops in the shower, quickly gets dressed, and is out the door within the next half hour. The roads are less congested on a Saturday morning, so that’s always a plus. The snow had started falling more heavily after he got back home from Rupert’s and there are still plows clearing the streets as the first rays of light break across the sky. Gavin’s probably gonna get in earlier than usual but since adopting Socks, the damn cat never lets him sleep in anyway so making it into work minutes before he’s supposed to be there has also become part of his routine.

 

He greets the receptionist with a grunt, her lukewarm smile making him feel no more welcome at the Sixth than he had on his first day. Hicks isn’t in yet, thank fuck, and Gavin makes the most out of the quiet lull in the office by finishing up a report he had been working on. When Hicks does eventually stroll in, greeting his partner by saying something obnoxious and asinine, Gavin flips him off. The argument that follows has Chau barking at them to get their shit in order and it becomes yet another typical Saturday.

 

Gonzales doesn’t come in until after lunch and almost as soon as Gavin sees her, she gives him a look and he knows she’s itching to find out what went down the night before.

 

Fuck...that’s another thing he hadn’t thought about.

 

What the hell is he gonna tell her?

 

“Reed, gotta minute? I need to go over something with you down in the Evidence Archive,” Gonzales says. “Not you, Hicks. Reed will be assisting me on a cold case.”

 

“But I’m his partner.”

 

“Take it up with Chau if you’ve got a problem.”

 

Hicks glowers from his desk, eyeing the two with the same suspicion from the other day. Gavin, who can never help himself, makes a finger gun gesture and falls in step behind the lieutenant. He can already see Hicks beeline for the captain’s office.

 

“Hicks is pissed,” Gavin says, in a loud whisper, as he follows Gonzales down the stairs into the evidence room. “Bet the rat’s already reporting in to Kamski.”

 

They stop before the panel, the lieutenant accessing it and keying in her password. With security cameras around them, Gavin tenses, knowing that Chau could be listening in on them at this moment.

 

“Relax, Reed. Chau’s asking me to look into Zlatko,” she says. “Whatever the hell you witnessed last night must have been something because Chau buried this case months ago.”

 

She pulls up evidence container 039 and the room shifts as the thick polycarbonate glass door retracts, allowing them access. Gavin follows her inside, eyes glancing across the back-lit wall at the meager physical evidence available. A few pieces of bloodied clothing are hung up and encased behind glass, bullets found in the victims labeled and presented in a plastic slot connected to the wall. This prevents contamination and allows the detectives to analyze what they have so far.

 

Gonzales touches a panel and two holographic projections of the victims appear in the middle of the room, laying horizontally in mid air as if lying on a gurney. The reconstruction is a visual representation from the state the bodies had been in at the time they were brought to the morgue. Gonzales walks around the holograms and indicates to the first victim.

 

“The victims were killed some time at the start of June, shot multiple times by a 9 mm,” Gonzales starts, pointing to the multiple entrance wounds on both victims. “Devon ‘Bones’ Miller and George ‘Griff’ Gallagher were found 3 days after they were dumped in the river.”

 

Gavin stares hard at the two victims and as the recognition hits him, he feels a pressure on his chest, as if the air has been knocked out of him. He can suddenly taste the crisp air on his tongue, feel the wind as it ruffled his sweaty locks, his feet dangling in the absence of a surface.

 

Those two assholes had hung him from the side of that fucking building the night Murphy tortured him.

 

“These pricks worked for Murphy,” Gavin says, unable to hide the contempt in his voice.

 

They had never gotten an ID on the thugs involved in Gavin’s capture. After Murphy turned up dead, Gavin had been happy to bury that fucking nightmare behind him, hadn’t wanted to solve the loose ends as he had enough shit already going on in his head.

 

Seeing their reconstructed, bloated corpses, the only thing he feels is a sense of relief knowing both of those pieces of shit died violently.

 

“We suspected Zlatko or someone working for him got rid of these two after last summer’s turf war,” Gonzales explains. “We had more evidence – traces of DNA found beneath one of the victim’s fingernails that belonged to Zlatko, but this was scrapped after Chau decided that all it proves is that Bones and Zlatko got into an altercation, something that Zlatko’s attorney corroborated on his behalf.”

 

“Yeah I’m sure those two assholes got into some drunken brawl and Zlatko decided to be the bigger fucking man and walk away,” Gavin mutters sarcastically. He has to look away from the corpses, heart thundering in his chest as he recalls, too vividly, how helpless he had felt on that rooftop. “But why bring this shit up at all? We’ve got fuck all to work with.”

 

“That’s where I’m hoping you can fill in the blanks for me,” Gonzales says, shutting off the projection. Whether she can tell Gavin is uncomfortable or not is hard to say but he’s grateful. “A cold case Chau was insistent I abandon being brought back to the table? Zlatko must have pissed _someone_ off if Chau’s looking for a way to bring him in.”

 

“Maybe Chau’s had a change of heart, wants to see these fuckers brought to justice.”

 

His scathing retort leaves a small smirk on the lieutenant’s face.

 

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.” The frustration on her face is clear and Gavin gets it, after having been kicked off the Kamski case last year by the higher-ups. “So, Reed, what _did_ happen last night?”

 

Gavin knows he should be honest, let her know how fast shit went south and that if they make it quickly to the warehouse, they may be able to find traces of evidence from the shootout. Nines is thorough but maybe for once, Gavin can get one up the prick. It’s not like they need a warrant to search an abandoned property.

 

But Gavin hesitates. And he fucking _hates_ that he does because he owes Nines _fuck all_ after that asshole did him dirty. If anything, he should be doing everything in his power to put away that murderous asshole for good, let him rot in a max security prison. It’s more than just his ‘petty outrage’: he’d be doing Detroit a favor.

 

But Gavin can’t. Even as the accusations sit heavy on his tongue, he knows he fucking _can’t._

 

Nines may have other motivations for keeping Gavin alive. But the fact is, he did. And Gavin has little doubt that if whatever made Nines shoot that other thug wasn’t a factor, the gangster would have let Zlatko and his cronies do whatever the fuck they wanted to him.

 

“Didn’t get close enough to see,” Gavin lies. “Too many security guards around the site. Saw Zlatko and some of his guys approach the warehouse but that’s about it. May have been some shots fired but shit was noisy around the docks so I don’t even fucking know.”

 

He scratches at his nose absently and then mentally berates himself for giving into his nervous tell. However, Gonzales doesn’t know him well enough to call him out on it and buys it hook, line, and sinker.

 

“Whatever went down, it’s good you stayed back. You weren’t even supposed to be there and Chau would be on both of us if you had to call in back up,” Gonzales says, quietly. Her eyes flicker to the entrance cautiously before she asks, “Did you get any pictures?”

 

“Tried getting some. They turned out shitty,” Gavin answers, pulling out his phone. Another message from Rupert. _Fuck fuck fuck._ He ignores his notification and goes right to his photos. He doesn’t expect to find anything as Nines deleted them all but then he stares down in surprise as he sees a few of the photos he had taken while Zlatko and his thugs had been outside the building.

 

_Nines, you sneaky fuck…_

 

He shows them to Gonzales.

 

“At least this proves your intel was right. You don’t know who Kamski sent?”

 

“No freaken clue.”

 

“I don’t think this needs to be said but let’s keep this between us for now,” Gonzales says, in a hushed tone. “I’ll forward you what I’ve got on the Miller-Gallagher homicides. If we can’t connect Zlatko to this red ice deal, we’ll try and get him on the murders.”

 

“Why do I get the feeling Kamski’s pulling all our god damn strings, getting us to do his dirty work?” Gavin grumbles.

 

The sardonic smile on her lips does little to make Gavin feel better. “Because he probably is.”

 

They head back upstairs and with Gavin’s shift coming to a close, he glances over what Gonzales sends him, tries to get a head start on the reopened case. An unsettling feeling washes over him and when he looks over his shoulder, he sees Hicks studying him intently.

 

“Gotta fucking problem?”

 

Hicks simply smirks in a way that doesn’t sit well with Gavin. He returns to his work and Gavin decides to drop it since he was already yelled at earlier for arguing with his partner. He’s exhausted anyway, the few hours of sleep from the night before finally catching up with him. Seeing that it’s already after 5, he throws on his beanie and coat and doesn’t even acknowledge his prick of a partner who sounds way too fucking friendly when he wishes Gavin a good evening.

 

Asshole never does that.

 

As he warms up his car, he finally looks at those messages he’s been avoiding. He knows he was shitty to Rupert last night—fuck, he can be a dick but he’s never been that much of an asshole to any man who was interested in him—and his guilt is starting to catch up with him.

 

[Rupert Jan 7 3:04 AM]

_hope u made it home safe_

 

[Rupert Jan 7 3:04 AM]

_did_ _perry_ _scare u off?_

 

[Rupert Jan 7 3:05 AM]

_he likes to listen_

 

Gavin’s got no issue with perverted birds mimicking the dumb shit they hear. He imagines, under different circumstances, he’d have found it kinda funny.

 

No, the problem wasn’t Rupert’s pet but what the parrot had caught Gavin moaning: that one fucking name that drove home how wrong it had been for him to go there in the first place.

 

[Rupert Jan 7 4:14 PM]

_if ur not that into me,_ _i get it. but let me kno_

 

Shit.

 

He lights up a cigarette, stares at the messages on the screen. A creeping sensation comes over him and he flicks his eyes up to the rear view mirror but then shakes it off as stress and paranoia from being so tired. There’s nothing there, anyway.

 

He opens his window an inch, flicks off the ashes.

 

Chen hasn’t messaged him so he’s guessing she doesn’t know he stood Rupert up and then showed up at his place for a quick fuck. Otherwise, he knows Tina would be boiling him alive for fucking around with her friend’s feelings.

 

Cigarette sitting between his lips, he begins typing.

 

[Gavin Jan 7 5:32 PM]

_i was a fucking dick_

 

[Gavin Jan 7 5:32 PM]

_shoulda told u sooner i coudnt meet u_

 

It’s not ‘sorry’. But it’s as close as he can get himself to type it.

 

[Rupert Jan 7 5:33 PM]

_u were at work. can’t really be mad at u for that_

 

_No, there’s about a billion other fucking things you should be calling me out on,_ Gavin thinks.

 

[Rupert Jan 7 5:34 PM]

_i like u, gavin. u can be a dick but i think ur a good guy underneath all that_

 

Gavin’s face heats as he reads the message a few times. Ashes fall onto his shirt and he tosses out the butt of his cigarette, then goes back to typing.

 

[Gavin Jan 7 5:37 PM]

_i like u too_

 

There’s some truth to it, as there are parts about Rupert he finds attractive, things that, with time, he knows could grow into something meaningful. Rupert may not make his blood hot or fill him with that same possessive need to _take_ in the way Nines does— _did._ Past tense. _Did—_ but Gavin needs someone who isn’t Nines and he has to move on, can’t keep making himself a fucking slave to what has always been an unrequited attraction.

 

But he can’t let himself use Rupert like that again. Rupert deserves better.

 

[Gavin Jan 7 5:38 PM]

_maybe we take things slower? been through some tough shit lately_

 

[Rupert Jan 7 5:39 PM]

_tina mentioned that_

 

_Of fucking course she did,_ Gavin thinks, with an eye-roll. She’d never tell his personal shit in detail but he can guess she made him out to be a broken-hearted idiot looking for his Mr. Right or some bullshit like that. It’s all those god damn shitty CW shows she’s been watching lately.

 

[Rupert Jan 7 5:40 PM]

_if u need time, i can wait. no need to rush things_

 

They message each other a bit longer as Gavin waits for the windows to defrost. Similar to a few days ago, they share some videos and memes and he is already beginning to feel better about where things sit between them.

 

But as he backs out of his parking spot, that strange feeling from earlier is back, that inexplicable paranoia of someone’s eyes being on him. It remains with him most of his way home.

 

* * *

 

His boots crunch in the snow as Gavin steps across the police line, entering into a small clearing not far from the road’s edge. Though it’s only after four, the sky’s already streaked in thin strokes of red as nightfall begins to approach. Officers and detectives mill about the site and Gavin very pointedly ignores Hicks, heading straight for where Gonzales is crouched, examining the body. Coffee in hand, Gavin takes a long sip of it, hovering not far from the lieutenant. He’d only just finished his arm routine at the gym when he received a message to head to the city outskirts. Not exactly how he was expecting his day off to go but after years of this, he’s gotten used to it.

 

“Bout time you got here,” Gonzales teases, standing up.

 

He looks down at the fresh corpse: the head’s been removed, dried blood coagulating in thick clumps. Parts of the victim’s hands and torso appear to have been picked at, probably by whatever wildlife roams the woods in winter. The below freezing temperatures have thankfully reduced the state of decay and what little rot is visible is not as rank as some of the scenes Gavin’s been to in his career.

 

He gets the feeling that there’s something familiar about the corpse, an inkling that prickles at his brain. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why. “We got an ID?”

 

One of the crime scene investigators hands Gonzales a device. The small, rectangular object, an invention created only some years ago, provides on-site DNA analysis and can identify a sample within minutes. The screen indicates a match within the police database and pulls up an image of a convicted felon.

 

“Aleksi Andronikov,” Gonzales answers, “two counts of aggravated assault and a DUI. We interrogated him last summer, in connection to the Miller-Gallagher homicides. He’s Zlatko’s nephew.”

 

Gavin instantly recognizes him as the thug Nines shot the other night.

 

_Fucking Christ, Nines,_ he thinks, glancing down warily at the corpse once more, _the fuck you do with his head?_

 

Whatever he did, Gavin’s got a feeling that it has everything to do with the shootout the other night. And that’s just what Detroit needs: another fucking gang war.

 

“Fuck,” Gavin cusses.

 

Gonzales hands the device back to the investigator and once she is out of earshot, the lieutenant leans in closer and says, quietly, “He was there the other night?”

 

Gavin nods.

 

“There’s no blood, few drag marks. It’s snowed since and we’ve marked off some tracks leading to the highway,” Gonzales adds, pointing to the east side of the clearing. “This is definitely a dump site. And I’m willing to bet that warehouse is the scene of the murder.”

 

Gavin tenses visibly and hides his face behind his coffee as he takes another long sip. He has a hard time swallowing its suddenly acrid taste.

 

“If we can date the time of death to that night, with your photos showing both Zlatko and our vic at the docks, we may have probable cause,” Gonzales continues. “We can demand security footage from Kamski’s warehouse, maybe even get a search warrant. There will be nothing Chau can do if we get that.”

 

“You think it’s enough?” Gavin asks, glancing cautiously to where Hicks is smoking. His partner’s been eyeing them during their conversation because the nosy prick can never keep to himself. Gavin’s guessing all of this will be reported to Chau.

 

“It’s the best we’ve got to go on. We’ve got a body and location: this might be just what we need to clean up the precinct and bring Kamski in,” Gonzales whispers excitedly.

 

Part of Gavin wishes he could share in her excitement but he knows whose hand was on that trigger and the motive for killing Aleksi. Now he’s wondering what in the fuck Nines was thinking leaving those god damn photos on his phone.

 

“We’ll bring in Andronikov for questioning first, see if he’s willing to talk. He’s never been cooperative but if Kamski’s made this personal, we might be able to get something out of him.”

 

The lieutenant dismisses Gavin shortly after that and once he’s puttered around the crime scene a bit more, he stands just off-site to have a cigarette. Hicks is still lurking around and Gavin’s mostly avoided the moron until now. But, of course, once he’s alone, the asshole has to come over and give his two fucking cents.

 

They stand side-by-side, the sky a deep series of reds and purples as twilight falls. Gavin’s cut back on smoking, now managing to go about 1 pack a week. But in that moment, he has the strong urge to finish the whole fucking pack to endure the oncoming conversation.

 

“You and Gonzales been getting a little cozy lately,” Hicks points out, smarmy grin on his face. “You better not be looking to replace me, Reed.”

 

“Fucking Christ, I wish.”

 

“You know, you should give me a chance, Reed. Bet you and I have more in common than you think.”

 

“If this is the part where you pitch me the Church of Kamski, you can fuck right off.”

 

He exhales in agitation, having never spoken this bluntly about Hicks’ corruption but feeling his patience worn thin enough to say anything to chase Hicks off. His partner is usually skittish enough to go scurrying back to whatever fucking hovel he lives in whenever Gavin gets this snappy. But instead, he nudges the detective and adds, conspiratorially, “Word is Gonzales is under-performing. And some of the higher-ups have been looking to replace her with someone who’s overdue for a bit of recognition. Would be a real shame if ‘this person’ went and pissed off the wrong people...”

 

The look he gives Gavin makes the detective’s skin crawl. Even worse, though, is that tiny, treacherous thought that Gavin has as he imagines, for a brief moment, what it would be like.

 

How many nights off has he sacrificed over the years, putting all his sweat and tears into his career, only to have his ambitions crushed at every turn? Isn’t it about time he got _something_ to show for it?

 

But he knows the cost of his ambitions, knows whose back he’d have to knife to get there. And while he might feel indebted enough to protect Nines, he would never extend that courtesy to Elijah fucking Kamski.

 

“Shove your threats up your ass, Hicks. That shit won’t work on me.”

 

He tosses out his cigarette and trudges through the snow back to where he’s parked. He smokes two more cigarettes along the way.

 

* * *

 

Looking up into the rear view mirror, Gavin fixes his hair once more, cigarette sitting between his lips. He’s broken his own rules today for cutting back but he’s feeling anxious as shit again, wonders for not the first time if this is the right thing to do. He can’t even be sure if it’s nerves any more or his conflicting feelings when it comes to taking those baby steps towards moving on.

 

_He fucking likes you. What more does your dumb ass need?_ he thinks, giving up on his hair. He frowns at his reflection, rubs at his clean shaven jaw. Self-consciously, he notes that there’s a reason he usually has his trademark scruff: it hides the tip of his worst scar, along with another one he had received just below his lip after fighting with one of his ‘brothers’ back in foster care. Without his facial hair, the scars appear starkly on his face and all he sees is a life time of shitty choices staring back at him in the mirror.

 

Unable to stand looking at himself any longer, he shuts his car off and gets out. It’s well into the evening, a deep chill in the crisp air that prickles against his bare face. He takes one last drag of his cigarette, suckling what little heat he can from the stick burning between his lips, before tossing it down into the nearby snowbank. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he moves towards the entrance of the apartment complex but he’s come to accept that his ongoing paranoia is just that: paranoia. And instead of looking like a fucking moron as he glances around in the empty darkness for shadows that aren’t there, he goes to the intercom and inputs Rupert’s number. Within moments, he’s inside and out of the freezing cold.

 

“You’re on time,” Rupert teases, stepping aside to allow Gavin into his apartment. “Color me impressed, Reed.”

 

“With the bar set this low, kinda hard to fuck it up worse.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

 

He laughs as Gavin colors. Leaning in, Rupert hesitates for a split second before kissing Gavin chastely. The detective relaxes, feels some of his trepidation ease away. Yeah, he can do this.

 

“You clean up nice,” Rupert says, glancing over Gavin appreciatively.

 

The detective blushes. It’s hard to be his obnoxious, cocksure self when every one of his insecurities are brought to the forefront, when he has to suspend his disbelief and accept that he fits some standard of attraction that hasn’t applied to him in years. He let himself go both times after Connor and Nines, body wasting away as his unhealthy habits caught up with him. Absently, he wonders if Rupert would have even given him a second glance if he hadn’t filled out as a result of his active gym regimen.

 

He used to wonder what Nines saw in him. Now he knows there is nothing about him physically the gangster admired.

 

“What’re we having? Something smells good,” Gavin says, stepping further into the apartment.

 

The parrot cocks his head when he notices the detective. “Nines. Nines. Nines.”

 

Gavin’s chest thuds hollowly.

 

“Perry, stop that,” Rupert says, clucking at his pet bird. The parrot nudges his head affectionately against Rupert’s knuckles. “Don’t mind him: he thinks that’s your name now.”

 

“Great,” Gavin says, dryly.

 

“It’s not the worst thing he’s called someone. I got into a fight with a classmate once and for the next month, whenever he came over to work on our assignment, Perry kept calling him, ‘asshole’.”

 

That does get a chuckle out of Gavin, though it’s a bit forced as he fights to ignore that cold, empty feeling he gets at the reminder of his ex. It’s funny how Nines makes him so hot and cold: he burns hotter than a furnace whenever in the gangster’s presence, never quite certain anymore if he wants to wring the asshole’s neck or throw him against the nearest surface and mark his flesh with his teeth. Yet when he’s not around, the mere thought of him has the weight of his deceit crushing Gavin with an emptiness no distraction can fill.

 

_That fucker never deserved you._

 

And maybe if he keeps telling himself that, he’ll believe it one day.

 

Rupert leads him into the kitchen and offers Gavin a beer as he prepares some plates of food for them. He’s made some beef-based curry and it looks and smells better than anything Gavin’s tried to make for himself in the last while. It certainly lacks the careful detail in presentation that Nines always embellished each of his culinary creations with, the gangster’s brow furrowing with irritation whenever Gavin dug right into his dish and ignored repeated requests to slow down and ‘savor’ the meal. Nines always also insisted on pairing everything with a fucking wine or liqueur and would look unimpressed when Gavin popped open a can of beer instead, insisting that every meal was a careful fusion of flavors and—

 

_Stop fucking thinking about him._

 

He’s here on a date, agreed to stop by for a home cooked meal and a movie. He shouldn’t be comparing Rupert to Nines. It’s no contest who’s the better person.

 

“I still can’t believe you haven’t seen this,” Gavin says, when they settle on the couch with their food.

 

Rupert accesses the streaming service he uses and pulls up his personalized list of films. Clicking on _Ex Machina_ , he starts the film. “I’m not really into sci-fi but my classmates say this one’s good. It’s not as ridiculous as other films in the genre and poses an ethical quandary about our role in the creation of AI.”

 

Gavin should be more put off than he is that Rupert is so dismissive of sci-fi films. Hell, the few enjoyable moments of his teen years were spent on sci-fi and comic books and as much as artificial intelligence scares the shit out of him, he enjoys the chilling depictions of androids in the genre and views films like _Ex Machina_ as a cautionary tale of why AI has no place in modern society. Yet even if Rupert doesn’t enjoy the genre, he’s willing to give this film a shot—and actually _sit_ through it—unlike some assholes Gavin has dated who couldn’t sit still for five fucking minutes.

 

As the movie starts and they dig into their food, Gavin finds his mind drifting to those thoughts he swore he wasn’t going to have. Nines _hates_ tv and films, finds most of them a waste of time. He had indulged Gavin on a number of occasions, usually reluctantly, because Gavin was so insistent that he give something a shot but it was clear, once the title flickered onto the screen, that the gangster had no interest in paying attention to what was playing in front of them.

 

Irately, Gavin recalls the last time he tried watching a movie with Nines.

 

“Why are we watching this again?” Nines complains, not three minutes into the opening scene.

 

“Because it’s about bad ass gangsters and you’re a bad ass gangster and will you shut the fuck up and just watch it already?” Gavin answers, elbowing Nines in the ribs when Nines attempts to wrap an arm around the detective. “I mean it, babe: keep your fucking hands where I can see ‘em. Watch the damn movie.”

 

Nines glares at him and folds his arms petulantly over his chest, sitting rim-rod straight. Every time they’ve sat down to watch a movie, the gangster would snuggle up against Gavin, his hands and lips seeking out every inch of available skin until Gavin was so distracted, they’d end up fucking until the credits rolled. Well, not this time.

 

After another few minutes, Nines declares, “I find this movie offensive.”

 

Gavin knows the asshole’s baiting him. He’s fucking baiting him into doing anything but watch the movie.

 

With a resigned sigh, the detective asks, “What is so god damn offensive about it?”

 

“They spontaneously decide to conduct a robbery for the sake of conducting a robbery,” Nines says and Gavin is inwardly groaning, regretting having asked. “This is incredibly irresponsible and unbelievable if they are as effective at what they do as they claim. They have not considered the logistics of the location: CCTV footage, staff access to telecommunications, the potential that other diners may have weapons on them, the fact that as two individuals, they are quite outnumbered. If I am to suspend my belief and become properly engaged in the narrative, I need to be sold on more compelling storytelling than a couple seeking a quick thrill.”

 

Gavin bites his lip to keep from snapping.

 

He does this. Every. Fucking. Time.

 

“Will you just watch. The fucking. Movie.”

 

Nines looks as if he has more to say but seeing the expression Gavin’s wearing, the gangster snaps his mouth shut and stares straight ahead at the screen.

 

Beyond irritated, Gavin’s focus returns to the movie. There’s an uncomfortable tension between them, one that he’s not used to. He knows he’s getting more worked up than he should over spending some quality time together that doesn’t involve trying to rip off each other’s clothes but part of him feels slightly hurt that Nines isn’t making a serious effort to share in his interests with him.

 

It’s stupid. Fuck, is it stupid. But Gavin remembers how nice it was to get home from the job, curl up on the couch with Connor, and shut his brain off for a bit as he would unwind with his ex.

 

He doesn’t miss Connor. But he does miss sharing that kind of quiet intimacy.

 

Sneaking a glance at Nines, Gavin’s expecting to feel his agitation flare once more but instead, he’s surprised to see that though the gangster is clearly bored out of his mind, his attention remains fully devoted to the film, hands folded in his lap, perhaps to control any urge he has to touch Gavin. He sits straight, maintaining a respectable amount of space between them on the couch, and is listening raptly to the conversation between the two hit men on the screen.

 

It has the last of Gavin’s annoyance slipping away, quickly replacing it with guilt.

 

Nines is _trying_. And maybe, Gavin’s being way too hard on him.

 

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, the detective slides closer to the gangster, nudges him with his shoulder. The warmth of Nines’ body beside him is far more welcome than the cold hostility that had resonated between them when Gavin was at the other end of the couch. “Hey. You, uh, don’t need to keep watching if it’s not your thing.”

 

“It’s important to you,” Nines says simply, as if that is all that matters.

 

Gavin’s heart pounds and his gaze softens as he notes the serious expression on the gangster’s face. It leaves Gavin feeling like a fucking idiot.

 

He places one of his hands over Nines’, the gangster only then daring to take his eyes from the film to regard the detective. There’s a question in his eyes, dark pupils thinning the cool irises as Gavin sees the hunger reflected in them. He’s asking permission.

 

It suddenly doesn’t matter what they do. Gavin knows he can’t push Nines to do the same things he did with Connor and expect Nines to answer with the same enthusiasm.

 

Because Nines _isn’t_ Connor. And that’s why Gavin loves him.

 

Lifting Nines arm, Gavin throws it across his shoulders, snuggling into the gangster’s side. Pressed this close, he can feel the gangster finally relax against him and relishes in the possessive grip keeping him at Nines’ side.

 

From that point, Nines’ attention on the film drastically wanes. He noses at Gavin’s jaw, lips pressing a chaste path until he’s pulling the lobe of Gavin’s ear between his teeth and the detective’s struggling to swallow a low whine. His dick takes a very keen interest in the way Nines works the soft cartilage between his lips and it’s becoming increasingly harder to give two shits about what’s happening on the screen. A hand slides slowly down the detective’s abdomen, Nines pressing the flat of his palm over the filling erection straining against Gavin’s jeans. The moment Gavin hears the zipper begin to slide, his traitorous hips buck up weakly in search of friction, a gasp spilling from his parted lips. The current assault on his neck is doing little to tame the hot thrills racing down his spine.

 

“N-Nines. Y-you should watch this,” Gavin says, voice cracking with need. “I-it’s the best part.”

 

“You’re right,” Nines says, huskily, freeing Gavin’s erection from his jeans. He gives it a firm pump, hot breath falling against the bruised skin of Gavin’s neck, “it is.”

 

By this point, Gavin can’t even pretend he cares any more. He’s seen this film enough times, anyway.

 

“Fuck it.”

 

He tugs Nines by his tie roughly, groaning when their lips finally meet. As Gavin’s back hits the surface of the couch, he twists the silk tie in his hand, pulling Nines down with him. Not that Nines has any intention of leaving, a heated growl echoing in his throat, nipping hard at the detective’s lower lip. The hand on Gavin’s cock slides up the shaft, thumb smearing the beads of cum pearling at the tip and Gavin’s arching up into Nines’ touch with a loud moan.

 

“B-babe,” Gavin shudders as the gangster’s teeth tease the skin of his neck.

 

When Nines’ hand releases his cock, the detective all but cries out in disappointment, watches with lust-blown eyes as the gangster begins undoing his tie. Then, taking Gavin’s wrists, he uses the silken material to bind them together, places them above Gavin’s head over the arm of the couch. With a smirk, he adds, “Consider this retribution for your silly ‘no touching’ rule earlier.”

 

The detective pulls experimentally at the binding, earning him a disapproving cluck from the gangster. Pleasure ripples each time a the tight fabric digs into his wrists and he’s almost at that point of begging for Nines to touch him once more.

 

“Are you going to be good for me, detective?” Nines asks, the command veiled by the light and innocent tone he uses.

 

Gavin nods, numbly.

 

With a smirk, Nines descends between the detective’s thighs.

 

Fighting to chase the lure of the memory—of a time when Gavin had had such blind affection for that manipulative asshole—he tries to focus once more on _Ex Machina,_ shifting his body to try and hide the firm erection he’s sporting. The main character, Caleb, is having a conversation with that creepy-as-shit android, Ava, and focusing on how unnerving it is—on that unsettling feeling of watching a replication of a human being attempt human behavior—does help to calm Gavin’s sudden arousal.

 

His god damn fault for thinking about some amazing head he received from someone else while he’s on a fucking date.

 

“Fuck, is it creepy,” Gavin shudders, looking away from the TV when Ava’s placid facial expressions become too unnerving.

 

“I think she’s fascinating,” Rupert says, completely wrapped up in the scene.

 

‘It’ certainly doesn’t have any person hood he would recognize and Gavin would never assign a gendered pronoun to one of those things, fictional or otherwise.

 

They continue watching the movie, exchanging only the occasional comments. At some point, Rupert puts an arm shyly around Gavin’s shoulder and though something within him wishes to recoil, a knee-jerk response to the _wrongness_ of allowing someone who isn’t the man at the forefront of his thoughts to touch him, Gavin fights the urge and settles at Rupert’s side.

 

It’s...nice.

 

They kiss a bit after the movie and Gavin, for the life of him, can’t remember who initiated it. Maybe it was him. But as things start to get heated, his fingers tangling and tugging at short locks, the unblemished and handsome face of his ex sits behind his closed lids and Gavin knows he has to stop before he takes it too far.

 

“I, uh, sh-should get going,” he pants against Rupert’s lips. “Gotta work in the morning.”

 

Rupert immediately sits back. Though disheveled and noticeably aroused, if he’s disappointed, he hides it behind an understanding smile. “Y-yeah. I have an assignment to I need to work on.”

 

They kiss a few more times, the lingering feel of Rupert’s lips pressed to his remaining with Gavin as he warms up his car. He releases a shaky sigh, shivering fingers resting loosely on the wheel. He’s tempted for another cigarette but he’s already gone over his daily quota.

 

He’ll get there. Each time he lets someone else touch him, a part of the claim Nines has on his him begins to slip into bitter memory. The only place that asshole belongs.

 

By the time Gavin arrives to his apartment building, he’s convinced himself that the date was mostly a success. Creepy androids and the ghosts of ex’s past aside, it was nice to have a quiet night in and not worry about the normal bullshit that plagues him when out in public and trying not to make a complete ass of himself.

 

His good mood, however, goes quickly south as he stops outside his door. There’s a dull thud in his chest as he bends down, his fingers cautiously grazing the soft petals of the single rose set atop a small package. His blood quickens as he catches his name written in a familiar hand across the thick envelope.

 

And just when he thought he was rid of him, that manipulative snake finds a way to slither right back in, coiling himself around the detective. His freedom is, and always has been, an illusion since that night at the warehouse.

 

With a frown, Gavin grabs the rose, cusses as he cuts his finger on a thorn. Droplets of blood drip onto his name on the package’s surface and he’s more careful as he picks both of them up and heads inside.

 

Once setting the rose on the counter, he rips into the envelope. Socks mewls at his feet and rubs against his legs but Gavin’s more transfixed on the single item contained inside, now in his hand.

 

A burner phone.

 

He remembers how this plays out.

 

With trepidation, he unlocks the screen. A single name is registered, a single message sent.

 

He tossed out the old one months ago, in the initial post break-up purge. Along with it went dried roses, the soiled handkerchief, and every single hand-written note he’d ever received from Nines. It still baffles him that he somehow missed one of the gangster’s shirts but that has since been dealt with.

 

He should throw this one out, too. If he doesn’t answer, it will send a clear message to Nines that Gavin was serious, all those months ago, when he told the gangster to stay the fuck away from him.

 

But Gavin’s too fucking weak to deny his most basic impulses and before he knows it, he’s already reading the message.

 

[9s Jan 9 6:43 PM]

_I have a proposition for you that may be to your liking. Meet me in Rouge Park at 11 PM on Friday. Though this should not need to be said, come alone._

 

“Yeah fucking right,” Gavin mumbles.

 

He stares down at the message, chews on his bottom lip. There’s still time to toss the phone, put all this shit behind him for good.

 

Tired of being ignored, Socks hops onto the counter. Gavin doesn’t have the energy to push the cat off of it, knows the persistent little fucker will just jump back up anyway.

 

As one hand rubs beneath Socks’ chin, the other begins to type.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 9 11:57 PM]

_this better be fcking worth it_

 

So much for putting it all behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, this is some of the research I had conducted for this chapter. Pretty much every chapter/part in this series has had some portion of it researched while the more fantastical elements are just me shrugging my shoulders and saying, "It's 2040. I'm sure we'll invent something that can do this by then." I should probably make more of an effort to reference what I find >.>.
> 
> [DNA analysis found beneath a victim’s fingernails after being submerged in water](https://www.isfg.org/files/d89ebc1b0b550224996cce142d1a532920dc07c9.02005861_187261587589.pdf). I was curious how long such evidence can remain and if it would be feasible for the evidence to still be there days after a body is dumped in a river. 
> 
> [An account of a real life case of suspected police corruption at the Spreckels Mansion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlbO-DyxwYA). It's this bizarre case where days after the young son of the mansion's owner gets seriously injured, the girlfriend who was looking after the child at the time of the accident dies in an apparent suicide. The following investigation appeared to have been conducted sloppily and little effort was made into investigating the strange circumstances surrounding her death. It wasn't until the family of the victim got involved that the brother of the deceased's boyfriend, who had been staying in the mansion with her the night she supposedly killed herself, was eventually sued for being found responsible for her death. In this messed up case, there's even evidence to suggest that she may have been [sexually assaulted the night she died](https://www.oxygen.com/death-at-the-mansion-rebecca-zahau/crime-time/rebecca-zahau-sexual-homicide-evidence-finale) but as of now, the police have refused to re-open the investigation. Part of my interest in learning more about this case is having a real-life example where those responsible are in positions of power and privilege and have used that privilege to avoid persecution. The take away from this: if you have money, you can get away with anything. Special thanks to my friend [Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness) for providing this for me while I agonized over whether or not I can make a corrupt police precinct believable.


	4. Things That Are Deadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against his better judgment, Gavin meets with Nines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had so much fun reading the comments you guys leave! Everything from Nines' face theories to many of you agreeing that Rupert deserves better. I'm also so thrilled you don't mind the direction this story has taken! It's been challenging to write but I have enjoyed writing this. So thank you so much for sticking around <3
> 
> Special thanks to [Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/) who has been nothing but encouraging when I am concerned about my writing style or the themes I like to use in my stories. I know you're not as into reading stories that explore unhealthy relationship dynamics so I want to thank you for giving my stories a shot, helping me with my questions about mutilated corpses, and just for putting up with me. I honestly never expected we'd even become friends after I started reading your stories and your advice over these last two years has been amazing <3
> 
> I really should start giving specific shout outs to some of you who have followed this story from the beginning. All of you are wonderful!
> 
> Just as a fair warning, this chapter takes a pretty dark turn. The **minor character death** is in the tags and though it's only OCs, the way in which they die may bother some readers. Emotionally, it is heavier than the previous three chapters. So be prepared for some angst.
> 
> Happy...uh, maybe less happy?...reading.

Gavin taps his fingers on his knee, watching through the one-way mirror as Gonzales continues her interrogation of Zlatko Andronikov. So far, Zlatko’s been mostly noncommittal in his responses, looking on with bored disdain as the lieutenant attempts to redirect the line of questioning to gain information most relevant to their investigation. It’s clear that her patience is waning but she continues, lips pressed in a firm line.

 

“How would you characterize your relationship with the victim?” Gonzales tries once more and Gavin sees a telltale hardness in the expression Zlatko is wearing. “Would you say you two were close?”

 

“Lieutenant Gonzales, I find your line of questioning highly inappropriate, given the recent loss that my client’s family is facing,” a low, booming voice cuts in. “That Mr. Andronikov has agreed to speak with investigators while in the middle of arranging a funeral is a courtesy that you should not take advantage of. My client is in mourning.”

 

Luther Price, a partner at Walter and Brookes, is a towering hulk, more than a head taller than everyone else at that table. His large, broad shoulders and grim expression would be enough to make any hot-headed brawler think twice before throwing the first punch. Yet, there is a gentleness to which the lawyer carries himself, though he left that gentleness outside of the interrogation room the moment Gonzales began her line of questioning. His warm eyes grew steely, his soft tone more clipped, the more Gonzales pressed.

 

“I have a dead man found mutilated in the woods,” Gonzales follows up, her gaze narrowing. “And evidence showing Mr. Andronikov was with the victim the night he died. It is within my interests to determine how Aleksi Andronikov ended up there and whether or not Mr. Andronikov had anything to do with it.”

 

“These wild accusations are highly offensive and you haven’t—”

 

“It’s alright, Luther,” Zlatko cuts in, staring hard at the lieutenant. “I’ll answer the lieutenant’s question.”

 

Luther sits back in his chair, not looking the least bit pleased.

 

“You’re asking if I was close to my nephew,” Zlatko says and Gavin sees the sorrow the arms dealer struggles to school, a rage beginning to surface as his lips pull in a frown. “I loved him, Lieutenant, like a son.”

 

Zlatko’s voice wavers and he takes a moment to compose himself, before he declares, “And I plan to see justice brought to the person who did this.”

 

A chill creeps down Gavin’s spine, the contempt in Zlatko’s voice not only a promise but a threat: Zlatko very well knows _who_ killed Aleksi and Gavin can only imagine how the gangster intends on getting vengeance.

 

 _What the fuck did you get yourself into, Nines?_ Gavin thinks, trying to convince himself he doesn’t give a shit. It’s not his problem if Nines has gone and pissed off the Russians.

 

“You loved him ‘like a son’?” Gonzales says, folding her arms smugly over her chest. “And what if I’m not buying it? Snot-nosed kid, thinking he knows better than his old uncle Zlatko—Aleksi had quite the mouth on him and I bet all it took was one comment that went too far—”

 

Zlatko’s fists tighten, lips parting in a snarl as Luther cuts in: “That’s enough, Lieutenant. This attack on Mr. Andronikov’s character is completely unfounded. If you are suggesting that my client had anything to do with Aleksi Andronikov’s death...”

 

“I think the real question is why the cops are wasting _my_ time,” Zlatko snaps. “You have nothing, Lieutenant, and if you think I will let you sit here and harass me—”

 

“Photos!” she says, speaking above him as she opens the manila folder, “Each of these taken within the hour of Aleksi’s time of death!”

 

She drops three in front of him and Gavin watches as Luther memorizes each image carefully while some of the red in Zlatko’s angry expression begins to drain away. His beady eyes flicker to the glass and it’s as if he can see Gavin sitting on the other side of it, his narrowed gaze saying _I know it was you._

 

The detective involuntarily shivers and his fingers stop tapping.

 

“These place you at the docks last Friday after 11 PM!” Gonzales says, heatedly. “You, and everyone in these photos, are most likely the last people to see your nephew alive.”

 

“All it proves is that my client saw Aleksi that evening,” Luther retorts. “Where, and with whom, Aleksi Andronikov went _after_ speaking with my client is what you should be investigating.”

 

“Is it a crime to take a walk with my own family?”

 

“A better question we should be asking: how is it that a police officer has private photos of my client with his nephew?” Luther demands, gazing with suspicion at the lieutenant.

 

“With all due respect, Mr. Price, where and how we obtain photos taken within a _public_ space is not the business, nor the concern, of you or your client.”

 

“It is our business,” Luther says, his gentle voice taking a cool tone, “when the lieutenant in question is facing harassment charges on suspicion of police misconduct. You’ll understand my concern if I suspect my client is being treated in the same manner.”

 

Gavin blanches. How the fuck does he know about that?!

 

Though Gonzales deflates noticeably, that hard look is soon back in her eyes. She leans across the table and points to the photo she placed in front of Zlatko. “Then let’s keep this simple, Mr. Andronikov: what were you doing on the docks that night?”

 

“I went on a stroll. With my nephew,” he answers, coldly.

 

“Conveniently near a _Cyberlife_ warehouse?”

 

“Is there a purpose to your question?” Luther demands.

 

“I am just curious if Mr. Andronikov is aware of where he was that night.”

 

“I was at the docks, with my nephew. That’s all.”

 

“Seems like a pretty interesting place to take a walk since it hit a low of -2 F that night.”

 

“I was born in Irkutsk, Siberia, Lieutenant. I am hardly bothered by the cold.”

  
“And approximately what time did you last see your nephew?”

 

“No later than 11:30,” Zlatko answers. “He said he had to go meet someone.”

 

“Did he say who?”

 

“I wasn’t my nephew’s keeper, Lieutenant.”

 

“Just answer the question.”

 

“No,” he says, frostily. “He did not. Now, may I leave? I’m a busy man with a funeral to arrange.”

 

“I’ll decide when I am done asking you questions.”

 

“Lieutenant Gonzales,” Luther says, standing from his seat to his full height. He towers over Gonzales, his large shadow falling across her petite figure, “you have no crime scene, no motive, and you’ve done nothing but accuse my client of being somehow involved in his nephew’s death. I strongly urge you to reconsider your approach or you will be facing yet another accusation of harassment.”

 

 _Don’t let those fuckers get to you,_ Gavin thinks, glaring at the pair through the glass.

 

Fuck, does he hate lawyers.

 

Much to his disappointment, he sees Gonzales back down.

 

“We will be in contact with you, Mr. Andronikov, once the funeral is over, so you can complete a witness statement,” she says, reluctantly.

 

“In the meantime, perhaps you and your department can put our tax dollars to use and find the actual people responsible,” Zlatko says, testily.

 

Gonzales looks as if she has something else she wants to say but wisely keeps her mouth shut.

 

Not seconds after Zlatko is being escorted by his attorney out of the precinct, Gonzales moodily throws open the door and drops the folder in front of Gavin. “That prick’s hiding something, I just know it.”

 

In spite of himself, Gavin smirks. Maybe he’s starting to rub off on the lieutenant.

 

“Asshole’s not gonna talk unless we get something solid,” Gavin says, with a shrug. He knows he needs to shift her focus, keep her from finding out exactly what happened in that warehouse. “Don’t think we’re gonna pin this on him—whatever the fuck went down that night. Sure we got no new angle with the Miller-Gallagher case?”

 

“Chau scrapped everything useful we had,” Gonzales remarks, bitterly. “We’ll have to wait on _Cyberlife’s_ response for that security footage we requested. If they refuse, we’ll just have to subpoena them.”

 

“Bet Chau’s gonna love that.”

 

“He can kiss my ass,” Gonzales snaps. “I’m done having people like him corrupting our precinct and taking home fat paychecks. If Andronikov or Kamski have anything to do with Aleksi’s death, I’m making sure they get life for this.”

 

She grabs her coat, which she had tossed on one of the other chairs earlier before she began the interrogation.

 

“Got your smokes on you?”

 

Gavin tosses her the pack. “Thought you quit?”

 

“So did I,” she says, before heading out the room moodily.

 

Without the lieutenant there, Gavin feels his hand ghost over the burner phone he’s kept all day in his pocket. It’s still hours before he has to meet Nines and while he’s in no mood to do that asshole any favors, Zlatko’s threat weighs heavily on his mind. Zlatko’s pissed; that much is obvious. And Gavin’s got the sinking feeling that this is only the start.

 

* * *

 

He parks near the area Nines said to meet him, shutting off his car and staring ahead into the poorly lit paths weaving through the trees in the park. The area’s fallen into disuse, for the most part, innovative plans decades before to revitalize the southeast side long since abandoned to focus development in central areas of the city. The only time Rouge Park makes it into the headlines these days is to report another body that’s been found.

 

Nervously, Gavin fingers his pack of cigarettes. Though there’s an eerie quiet to the park that’s incredibly unsettling, Gavin’s been in the game long enough to not get spooked by some god damn trees. It’s not _what_ may be out there but _who_ he stupidly has agreed to meet: any time he finds himself in Nines’ presence, he knows he leaves himself open to the gangster’s manipulations.

 

“What the fuck am I doing?” he grumbles to himself, as he gets out of the car.

 

He lights up, finger-less gloves once more on his hands, inhales deeply. The nicotine helps settle his nerves as he strides through the empty park, follows a pathway into a dense area of trees. The sounds of vehicles zipping along the streets behind him fade until all he hears is the crunching of his boots in the snow.

 

He hears a twig snap, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. Sharply turning on his foot, he scans through the dim glow of the lamps into the trees off the path, hand lingering over his firearm. Nothing.

 

Exhaling shakily, he turns once again and startles as he sees a tall, handsome figure standing beside a statue dedicated to some rich asshole who invested in this shitty park years ago. So much for that investment.

 

“You are late,” Nines says, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

 

Gavin stops a few paces from him, talking around the cigarette sitting between his lips. “Woulda gotten here sooner if some asshole hadn’t chosen to meet in sketch-fucking-central. There a reason we’re here, Stern, or do you just like yanking my dick every time you get bored?”

 

The gangster smirks at that and though Gavin’s being his usual crass self, he realizes his choice of words too late, colors deeply as gray eyes linger too intimately on him. Nines reaches for Gavin’s face with a gloved hand and, out of instinct, the detective finds he’s leaning into the gesture, only to be disappointed when the gangster plucks the cigarette from his lips. Jerking back belatedly, Gavin then tries to take back his cigarette but Nines merely swats away his hand.

 

“You still smoke these?” Nines asks, wrinkling his nose with distaste. He sniffs and then tosses it down in the snow.

 

“What the fuck, Stern?!”

 

Gavin’s pissed. He was only halfway through that one and it’s his last one for the day.

 

“You would think some of my good taste would have rubbed off on you,” Nines says, voice dripping with judgment. Fuck, does Gavin want to punch him in his pretty jaw. “A pity.”

 

“Yeah, I’m a fucking disappointment,” Gavin snaps. “Join the fucking list of assholes who think that. You gonna tell me why I’m here or you gonna keep boring me with how fucking better you are?”

 

He hadn’t meant to be that self-deprecating and sneers, hackles raised as he anticipates another assault against his character. Gavin can be cruel but he has nothing on Nines, who always seems to know how to cut him down with fewer words, each sharper than his most efficient blade.

 

Instead, Nines’ cool eyes lose their frosty flint, the left side of his mouth pulling down into a frown. “Gavin...”

 

And then, there’s a hesitation, the name uttered in the space between them carrying a weight that Gavin doesn’t know what to make of. A troubled expression falls on the gangster’s face and he seems undecided, fighting some internal battle that the detective can’t even begin to guess at. Eyes cooler than steel flicker somewhere beyond Gavin’s left shoulder and the only warning Gavin has is a barely perceptible widening of their gaze before Nines is lunging at him.

 

“Get down!”

 

Bullets spew past them, hitting the statue. Gavin goes crashing onto the snowy path, all 6 feet and 2 inches of Nines’ hard form falling on top of him. Gavin’s arms try to move to cover his head but they are pinned beneath Nines’ weight, though they’re not needed: Nines is curled around Gavin, right cheek pressed to the detective’s forehead, arms cushioning his head so that any shots fired at them will only be able to hit the gangster.

 

As he hears a bullet hit the path dangerously close to his left side, Gavin’s hands fist into Nines coat, trying to pull the gangster closer to him in a feeble attempt to make them a smaller target. He gives zero shits for his own well-being but knows it’s a lost cause if he struggles and tries to shift their position to shield Nines from the gunfire. So he does the only thing he can and clings, praying to whatever spiritual force is out there that they both make it out of this in one piece.

 

Once the gunfire stops, Gavin’s almost too afraid to move, part of him paranoid that the second they stand up, some unseen gunner will fire once more at them. The only thing preventing him from going into a full-blown panic is Nines’ steady exhales as they tickle the detective’s clammy skin. At the very least, it means he’s not the only one still alive.

 

Something cold and metallic is pressing to the detective’s forehead. He doesn’t have time to reflect on the oddness of it as Nines is soon rolling off of him and the absence of his warmth has Gavin biting back a sound. Exhaling heavily, Gavin grunts as he tries to sit up, glances over to where Nines is crouched and unholstering his gun. As the dim light of a lamp casts down on the right side of the gangster’s face, the detective does a double-take as a red light flares at the gangster’s temple, the off-white of metal plating appearing beneath splotches of disappearing skin. But as Gavin blinks in confusion, he sees Nines before him, unblemished skin of his face as it’s always been and shakes away the odd, creeping sensation that trickled down his spine.

 

Huh. He must of hit his head harder than he thought.

 

He rubs self-consciously at the back of his head, winces where it’s most sensitive.

 

Still, better a bump than a fucking bullet.

 

“You could have caught them _before_ they fired at us,” Nines hisses, standing to his full height.

 

Gavin’s about to ask what the fuck he’s on about when someone else answers, “Ralph tried. But it’s too dark out there for Ralph.”

 

Chuckling gleefully, the gangster with the severely scarred face shoves a man forward onto the path and Gavin recognizes him as one of the thugs from Zlatko’s crew. Bleeding from his shoulder and hands bound behind his back with wire, the Russian trips to his knees, cussing something Gavin can’t understand. His dark eyes glare murderously up at his captors and Gavin sees the corner of Nines’ left lip curl in a sneer.

 

“Next time, try harder,” Nines snaps at Ralph, “You had _one_ task and yet you somehow managed to mess that up, too. Consider yourself in my debt since I am feeling charitable enough not to report your incompetence to Kamski.”

 

The younger man deflates, fear flashing across his features at the mention of their boss. In a gesture that seems almost unconscious, his fingers ghost over the most jagged of the scars cutting into his cheek.

 

“Here’s the other one, boss,” a woman says, kicking the backs of her captive’s shins. He falls to his knees beside his companion.

 

“And what is your excuse for nearly allowing the target to get shot?”

 

The impatient hitch is Nines’ voice has the woman visibly flinching, along with the two other thugs she’s with. They all glance hesitantly between each other, no one brave enough to give an answer. Something about what Nines says has Gavin instantly thinking back to that morning, so many months before:

 

_The target._

 

And he’s got a feeling he knows exactly _who_ that is.

 

Gavin’s seething as he scrambles to his feet.

 

“Now wait one fucking minute—!”

 

The frostiness in Nines’ gaze has the words dying on Gavin’s lips. “I am in the middle of conducting business, Detective. Any grievances you may have will be addressed once I have properly dealt with these two.”

 

The coldness in his tone, absent of the cocky playfulness from only minutes before, makes Gavin take a cautious step back, as if the sound of Nines’ displeasure is enough to cut through the air and slice deeply into his flesh. There’s no room for argument and the detective wisely snaps his mouth shut, though he feels a quiet rage begin to build, lets his hands fist at his sides.

 

Nines approaches one of the men kneeling in the snow. With a calm that’s in stark contrast to the fury burning in his eyes, he asks, “Why have you been following Detective Gavin Reed?”

 

_The fuck?!_

 

And suddenly, all those nights where Gavin felt discomfort, a prickling at the back of his neck each time he walked alone to and from his vehicle, begin to make sense.

 

The men don’t say anything. So Nines says something, this time more clipped, in Russian. They exchange a look with each other before one of them spits on Nines’ shoe, sneering, “Потселуи моу жопы!”

 

Nines pistol whips him across the face, busting his nose. Blood pours down the thug’s chin but he remains defiant and uncooperative as the gangster once more repeats his question. Eventually, after what appears to be a lot of threatening, the thug says something snide, smirking as he looks between Nines and Gavin. Whatever it is, it twists Nines’ face into something of pure rage.

 

“The fuck’s that prick saying about me?!” Gavin demands, glaring at the Russian.

 

“Nothing to concern yourself with!” Nines snaps, though it’s clear from the fury written on his face that it is something important.

 

“My ass it’s not,” the detective grumbles, mostly under his breath.

 

“He does this to Ralph, too,” Ralph whispers, conspiratorially.

 

Gavin nearly jumps out of his skin, takes a cautious step away from the gangster. How the hell did he sneak up on him like that?

 

The thug continues and it’s obvious he’s gotten under Nines’ skin. Gavin wants some kind of translation, hates being in the dark, but before he can try asking again, Nines’ control finally slips. In his anger, the gangster kicks the thug onto his back, firing point blank into the Russian’s knee. The Russian fights to hold back a blood curling wail but it still comes out as a pained whine. As copper pools into the snow, Gavin closes his eyes and tries to block out the sight of Nines’ cruelty. And he knows this is the least of what Nines is capable of.

 

As Gavin hears the gun cock, he hesitantly opens his eyes, sees Nines pressing his gun against the other thug’s head. There’s defiance in the Russian’s eyes, though he visibly shrinks as Nines looms over him. Nines very much has the look of someone who is only waiting for an excuse to pull the trigger.

 

“Do it,” the Russian says, in a thick accent. “I won’t talk.”

 

“I have no use for men who have no information to offer me,” Nines says, coldly.

 

Gavin should stop this before Nines takes it too far. He couldn't give two shits if they end up dead in a ditch somewhere, victims of the very kinds of crime they proactively partake in within Detroit’s seedy underbelly, but he’d be damned if he lets Nines’ bloody his hands more than he already has.

 

He takes a step forward and freezes as the woman raises her gun.

 

“I wouldn’t interrupt him if I were you, Detective.”

 

That’s all the warning Gavin needs.

 

He’s never felt more fucking useless in his life.

 

A look of disapproval passes over Nines’ face as the gangster glances at the woman and Gavin sees her visibly tremble, arm lowering her firearm. Turning his attention back to their captives, a twisted half smile forms on the gangster’s lips. “Ralph, pick this one back up.”

 

Ralph rushes over immediately, an excited bounce in his step as he forces the Russian back on his knees. The Russian cries out in pain as he’s forced to put weight on his bleeding knee, face contorting in agony. With a cruel smirk, Nines pulls a small packet of red crystals from his pocket.

 

“Keep his mouth open,” Nines commands, an almost maniacal glee in his voice.

 

Ralph chuckles, his gloved hands gripping the Russian’s face.

 

Wait. The asshole’s not really gonna...

 

Nines motions for one of his men to do the same with the other captive.

 

“So Zlatko wants red ice this badly?” Nines muses, tearing open the packet. Gavin’s blood runs cold. “Like with all of our potential distributors, we recommend ‘sampling’ the product before proceeding onto the next phase of business. While the most common method of use is to inhale the drug, insufflation in small dosages has also been shown to produce a similar high, though less effective.”

 

He begins pouring half of the packet’s contents into the mouth of the Russian with the blown kneecap, the bound thug unable to escape Ralph’s grip. “We do, however, strongly discourage ingestion as a form of recreational use as the results have been, unfortunately, quite deadly.”

 

He empties the contents into the other thug’s mouth. Gesturing to Ralph and the other gangster, they hold their guns to the Russians’ heads, both of whom stare up in a mixture of hatred and fear at Nines, neither willing to swallow. “Spit, and they shoot. Fail to swallow before my patience runs out, and they shoot. Think of this as your ‘Get Out Of Jail’ free card: if either of you prove resilient enough to survive its effects, you’re free to go. All you have to do is swallow. And they say I have no mercy.”

 

Nines’ lopsided smile grows as the two Russians slowly do as commanded. When Gavin sees their throats bob, a sick feeling bursts in his chest. He can’t witness this shit anymore, stares down into the snow. It’s not long before one of the men begins convulsing painfully in the snow, Ralph’s laughter cutting over the sound of the man’s struggling. He’s overdosing and even Nines is amused, chuckling with sadistic mirth. Then...silence.

 

“Hmm, you are more resilient than I expected,” Nines says.

 

The man slurs something in Russian. When Gavin’s eyes finally flicker upwards, he sees Nines raise his gun and shoot the remaining thug. The detective’s gasp is drowned by the sound of the thug collapsing into the snow.

 

“On second thought, I am not that merciful,” the gangster muses, kicking the Russian’s bleeding corpse away from him. He turns to the rest of his crew, says, “Clean this up but do not dispose of the bodies. It seems Zlatko didn’t get the message the first time and will need another reminder of what happens when you piss me off.”

 

Ralph and the others get to work, Nines merely wrinkling his nose as he wipes his bloody shoe in the snow. Gavin averts his eyes from the bodies, his stomach feeling queasy. He leans against the statue and exhales shakily, fighting the urge to vomit: it was like watching a stranger, like Nines became an entirely different person, so different from every memory Gavin had of him, as he dealt with the Russians. A cold and ruthless killer.

 

Nines, in that moment, was exactly the kind of man Gavin had profiled last year.

 

 _That’s who he’s always fucking been,_ a voice says in his head.

 

How in the fuck had Gavin ever deluded himself into thinking Nines could be anything else?

 

“Detective. I am sorry you had to witness that...unpleasantness.”

 

Unpleasantness? That’s a fucking understatement.

 

Gavin struggles against the urge to retch. “Like shit you are. Did you really have to fucking kill them?!”

 

“They had been following you with the intention of hurting you, once the opportunity presented itself. They needed to be dealt with.”

 

“This why you dragged me the fuck out here?! To use me as fucking bait?!”

 

As soon as he says it, Gavin knows, deep in his gut, that it’s precisely what Nines was doing.

 

All eyes are on them as Gavin snaps at Nines, something of disbelief on everyone else’s faces at the disrespect the detective addresses the gangster with. A hint of color splashes across Nines’ face, deeper on his left cheek, and there’s irritation in his gaze, even as he keeps his voice steady, “It was necessary.”

 

The detective gapes at him, sinking dread pooling low in his chest.

 

“Kamski put you up to this shit, too?!”

 

Nines, at least, looks somewhat guilty.

 

“Mr. Kamski told us to observe the target only!” Ralph shouts out and Nines looks venomously at the beaming gangster, who adds, “Don’t worry, boss: Ralph won’t tell! Ralph knows Nines doesn’t want more—!”

 

“That is quite enough, _Ralph_!” Nines snaps, “Get back to your task!”

 

“Observe only?” Gavin sneers, feeling even more dizzy as he makes the connection. “Is that how you fucking knew I was being followed? You fucking spying on me, too?!”

 

Nines’ silence is all the answer Gavin needs.

 

He suddenly recalls all those moments he had thought had been _private_ , hours of intimacy recorded forever on video and images stored on the gangster’s device. And even if he takes Nines at his word—fucking liar that he is—and decides he believes the manipulative fuck about not having sent that footage to the DPD, it means someone else _had_. Someone who’s seen Gavin submit, moan, _beg_ for the gangster, make himself vulnerable as he gave himself completely in moments he thought only belonged to _them_.

 

Yet, here Nines is once more, all but openly declaring how he doesn’t give a shit about Gavin’s privacy.

 

He should have fucking known.

 

“Un-fucking-believable!”

 

Not giving Nines a chance to respond, Gavin’s stumbling away, back towards where he parked. He hears Nines bark orders and feels the presence of the gangster quickly pursuing him. But he barely makes it beyond the view of where the bodies lay before Gavin’s crashing against a tree, rough bark scraping his fingers. He can no longer hold it back, the nauseating burn causing him to bend over to vomit. Bile blazes all the way up his throat, stomach flipping painfully, as he retches loudly, losing most of his dinner in the first go. His vision blurs as he spits the rest of it up, panting heavily.

 

He doesn’t know what feels worse: the roiling in his abdomen or the knowledge that Nines used him. Again.

 

A pair of eyes watch him intently. As soon as Gavin figures out who it is, he’s twisting away viciously, nearly tripping into the sick covering the snow. A trembling hand swats away at the arm reaching out to steady him and Gavin can no longer be certain the stinging in his eyes is only a reaction to the pain in his gut.

 

“You couldn’t leave me the fuck alone, could you?” Gavin says, his voice hoarse. He swipes a hand across his mouth, gives zero shits that drops of vomit stain the cuff of his worn, leather jacket. He’s so angry, he can’t stop shaking. “What’re you, obsessed with me? Fucking stalker—!”

 

He cries out as Nines shoves him hard against the tree, struggles when Nines pins his wrists above his head. Despite all the months of bulking up, he can’t escape the gangster’s iron grip, finds himself trapped between the thick trunk and the solid thigh pressing against his hip. Even breaths fall against the detective’s cheek, the strong scent of familiar cologne making Gavin’s blood run hot as his cock twitches with interest. It disgusts him how easily he gives in, how each time he tries to twist away, the attempts become more and more half-hearted.

 

Cool eyes flicker across Gavin’s body, lingering in a way that should make Gavin repulsed by the attention. He’s never wanted anyone else’s approval as much as he _needs_ it from Nines in that moment, as fucking ashamed as the thought makes him.

 

Instead, Nines’ lips curl in disgust.

 

“Let us get one thing clear, Detective,” the gangster says, his soft tone filled with a kind of revulsion that makes Gavin want to curl into himself, “Though you enjoy the pretense, we both know that I could take you right now, in front of all of them, and you would _beg_ me to do it because you are that pathetic and obvious. I could take you in ways so humiliating and still, you would ask for _more_.”

 

“Don’t be so god damn full of yourself,” Gavin hisses, the sting of Nines’ words making him visibly wince.

 

“Do you deny this is the case?”

 

Nines needs only one of his hands to keep Gavin pinned, drops the other to cup him through his jeans. With his stirring cock sitting in that familiar grip, the detective has to swallow a sound he’s not proud of.

 

He’s stopped struggling, cheeks flaring with the shame of the truth Nines has voiced: that, for all this piece of shit has done to him, Gavin _knows_ he would never be able to deny him anything.

 

“Asshole,” he whispers brokenly, his voice cracking.

 

The gangster releases him, both hands on Gavin’s wrists once more. He noses the detective’s cheek in an act of mock affection and Gavin squirms to turn his face away, angry with himself for how much more of the gangster’s touch he desires.

 

Nines chuckles. “Oh, I’ve had my fun with you. But let us not confuse _who_ is the one with an obsession: all it took was an opportunity and you walked into it blindly, so desperate for my attention. You let something as pathetic as your sentiment cloud your judgment and for that, you were almost killed.”

 

“Because you fucking set me up!”

 

“Because you were moronic enough to challenge _someone_ who has the means and the motivation to kill you!” Nines snaps harshly, his fingers digging into Gavin’s wrists. “You are the one who chose to be at that warehouse, though we gave explicit orders to your precinct to stand down! You got involved and now, I have to not only concern myself with Zlatko targeting us but also, _you_! I do not have the time, nor the patience, to chase down everyone you piss off!”

 

“Then why don’t you fucking let them get me?!”

 

“Because I _can’t_ ,” Nines answers. When the detective looks questioningly at the gangster, tugs weakly against the hands holding him in place, the gangster tightens his grip. “Do not mistake my ‘efforts’ for concern: I am merely following orders.”

 

“That makes no fucking sense!” Gavin replies. “Why the fuck would Kamski want me alive?!”

 

“His designs for you will be made clear when he decides it is necessary. For now, I strongly suggest you play along and do your best to stay alive. It would make my job considerably easier.”

 

“So that’s really all I’ve ever fucking been to you?!” Gavin demands, annoyed as he feels his eyes begin to well. “Just another fucking job?!”

 

“You want to know exactly _what_ you were to me, Detective?” Nines whispers, each word uttered with contempt, “You were a fun distraction on the best of days.” He releases Gavin’s wrists, the detective visibly defeated. Gloved fingers tilt his face towards the gangster and through the blur of unshed tears, Gavin sees the beauty of Nines’ face for what it’s always been: a diversion from the heartless monster that resides beneath. “You spread yourself so easy for me, far easier than any whore I could have paid for,” and there’s a sick note of mirth in the gangster’s cruel tone, his half-smile making Gavin’s insides wrench. “Though we both know that I could have had better, I settled for your mediocrity because it made the job slightly more bearable knowing that if I had to put up with you, at least I was getting _something_ out of it.”

 

As he laughs, Gavin gives a violent lurch, shoving Nines off of him.

 

“You fucking asshole!” Gavin snaps, his voice cracking as tears spill off his lashes. Hearing every one of those accusations he had made against Nines all those months ago now confirmed rips him raw in a way he doesn’t expect. In this anger, he goes to hit the gangster but Nines grabs him roughly by his wrists, pulls him right up to his chest. Though Gavin fights against the gangster’s grip, tries to pound at his chest, he’s so distraught that all he can do is weakly choke back his sobs.

 

“You are _nothing_ to me, Detective,” Nines says quietly, the confession perverting those tender memories Gavin has of them, that stubborn side of him that wanted to believe that maybe, at one point, he would have been _something_ in Nines’ eyes, “and you had best remember that.”

 

And when Nines releases him, Gavin stumbles blindly back on the poorly lit path, swipes furiously at his eyes as the tears refuse to stop coming. He doesn’t look back at Nines, doesn’t want to buckle and break beneath the apathy on that asshole’s impassive face.

 

“Gavin?” Rupert says worriedly, some hours later, when the detective arrives drunk at his door.

 

It’s many hours after that when Gavin awakens, fully clothed with Rupert’s warmth pressed into his back, that he blearily stares at the marks Nines left on his flesh. Rings of bruises line his wrists, Nines’ cruelty not only an echo in his head but one painted on his skin. He swallows hard as he traces the stark purple welts with calloused fingertips, winces at the tenderness of the flesh.

 

Perhaps sensing he is awake, an arm curls securely around his waist. Words of comfort are whispered tiredly into his shoulder before Rupert once more slips into an easy sleep. And though Gavin knows that this is where he ought to be, guiltily, even as the abuse Nines confessed whispers its poison in his mind, he’s aware he would much rather be Nines’ _nothing_ than anyone else’s _something_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized over trying to keep Luther in character while also getting him to speak 'legalese'. So if he came off as weird, I am sorry. I honestly think any character not a lawyer in the canon suddenly being made to speak like a lawyer will come off as a bit weird...
> 
> I've got a feeling some of you are going to have very strong opinions about Nines in this chapter...


	5. Keep You In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin comes to terms with his past relationship with Nines and is ready to really move on this time. A new threat, however, makes him reassess what matters most to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been reading through all of the comments and I am thrilled that no one's out for my blood after the emotional shit show that was last chapter! Or, maybe you guys are, but you're nice enough to not tell me XD. Joking aside, I'm always happy to read what you think and how you feel about the actions of the characters. Everyone's been so supportive and it has made writing this series such a joy <3\. I am always here for you screaming at Nines and Gavin for the dumb shit they do and joining me on this garbage ship ;)
> 
> This chapter has mostly good feels and, honestly, Gavin really needs them right now. As a warning, next chapter will get intense once more. Well, more like the next two chapters >.>. It'll be quite the emotional roller coaster. Be prepared for those tags if you plan on reading them.
> 
> I can officially announce that this story has exceeded the anticipated 8 chapter count. Scenes keep getting pushed into the next chapters because I really suck at keeping things concise >.<. Currently, I can't commit to any number but let's say it might be something like 11 or 12 chapters. The biggest issue has been keeping the chapters short enough to make regular editing/posting feasible, hence why you'll have to wait longer for the series conclusion. I hope this isn't a problem for anyone following the story :(
> 
> Thank you so much for your support! I want to give special shout outs to [solas_oiche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solas_oiche/pseuds/solas_oiche), [exposede](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exposede/pseuds/exposede), [A_Gay_Squid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Gay_Squid/pseuds/A_Gay_Squid), [AnimeWhoLock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimeWhoLock/pseuds/AnimeWhoLock), [Random_person_2911](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_person_2911/pseuds/Random_person_2911), [Udon_kuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udon_kuma/pseuds/Udon_kuma), [zeynepserim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeynepserim/pseuds/zeynepserim), [HayShae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HayShae/pseuds/HayShae), Blue, [TheShipDen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipDen/pseuds/TheShipDen), Penguins, and I'm sure I'm missing so many people (forgive my stupid brain) but there are many of you who have followed this series for so long and take the time to comment and make me really think about the kind of story I want to tell. And for those of you who have just come on board and spent a day or two reading this whole series at once (seriously, respect!), your input has made me really fired up to keep writing, knowing that I can still reach new readers. Thank you, everyone, for your support and for motivating me. If you feel slighted because I failed to mention you, I am so sorry T.T. I try. Really, I do.
> 
> Now, onto the story!

“You look like shit, Gav.”

 

“You’re no Audrey Hepburn either, Chen,” Gavin grumbles, dropping moodily into the chair across from her.

 

Tina gives him the bird.

 

They’re lucky enough that, for the first time in weeks, they both have the same Monday off. Gavin’s spent the better part of the weekend living off of caffeine and quietly enduring Chau berate him for the mountain of reports he’s barely started. Not even Hicks could get a rise out of him as Gavin wasted most of his shift trying not to think of Friday night. But like the scars on his face, the bitter memory is ever present in his mind and each time he’s closed his eyes, he sees the disgust in Nines’ snarl, hears the contempt in his voice. Though Rupert’s not pressured him into confessing _what_ happened to make the detective spiral, not even the gentle comfort the grad student had to offer could silence the vicious words echoing in Gavin’s head.

 

The only thing keeping him from slipping into the worst of his habits is the bundle of fur occupying his apartment. Without Socks, Gavin knows he’d spend most of his free time in bed, letting his apartment clutter, and indulging in some risky behavior. Anything to temporarily forget Nines.

 

With a quick glance over her friend, Tina lets her mock scowl slip away and the concern in her warm, dark eyes has Gavin guiltily wishing he hadn’t been such an asshole. “Tell me what’s up, Gav.”

 

Gavin swallows uncomfortably, stares down at the hot coffee in front of him. The steam curls and twists in the air, tendrils fading the farther they stretch. The smell of cinnamon coming from Tina’s signature cappuccino should be comforting but it’s almost overwhelming, an assault on his fragile senses.

 

“I dunno where to even fucking begin,” he admits, quietly.

 

There’s a gentle touch on his wrist, near the fading bruises. The cuffs of his leather jacket do a good job at hiding them from Tina since he knows she’d lose her shit if she saw them. It’s almost enough to make him want to crack but he’s not about to make a fucking scene in the middle of a coffee shop.

 

“Take your time,” she says. “Or, you know, we can talk about something else.”

 

Gavin’s grateful for the offer, knows he needs time to work up to confessing what’s been going on.

 

“Wanna hear the latest shit Ser Davos has gotten into?”

 

He cracks a small smile. “The fuck did your cat do now?”

 

“Just what he always does. I keep telling Grace that the damn cat has decided he can go on the table whenever the fuck he likes and no amount of putting him back on the floor will teach him anything. He’s too damn stubborn.”

 

Gavin chuckles, feels his spirits lift a little as Tina continues to tell him about the hijinks of her beloved gray and white persian, Ser Davos Seaworth. An accident had left most of the claws on his right front paw permanently missing so Tina named him after one of her favorite characters when she adopted him a few years back. He’s not as energetic as Socks, older and more set in his ways, but Gavin’s still been enjoying his ongoing Cat Mom v. Cat Dad feud with Tina as both are constantly bombarding each other with photos and videos of their dumb pets’ escapades.

 

As he finishes off his black coffee, the warmth from the richly brewed beans settling comfortably in his stomach, he thinks of the weight of the burner phone sitting in his coat pocket. He knew he’d be too spineless, too much of a god damn chicken shit, to own up to his own fucking stupidity. So he brought the ice breaker he needed.

 

Tina detects the sudden shift in Gavin’s mood, a small frown pulling at the edge of her lips. Wordlessly, Gavin hands her the phone. “What’s this?”

 

“Me and my dumb ass getting myself back in the kind of shit that got me here in the first place,” Gavin says bitterly, reminded once more of how much he hates no longer being back at the DPD with Tina.

 

The messages are already open on the screen when Tina unlocks it. As she reads the few that were exchanged, she glances across at Gavin with wide-eyed shock. “Gav, you didn’t...!”

 

When he realizes exactly _what_ she is implying, his face goes a deep shade of red. “W-what? No! Fucking Christ, Chen, I wouldn’t do _that_ in a god damn park!”

 

“Good. Because I’d have to kick your ass if you did that to Rupert!”

 

“Not sure if I should be more pissed you think I’d go cruising in Crackville or that you think I’d fuck around on someone,” Gavin grumbles, moodily folding his arms over his chest.

 

He hasn’t had that ‘what are we’ conversation with Rupert yet, mostly testing the waters for whatever potential they have. Still, he wouldn’t want to be the kind of asshole who strings someone along and fucks around with someone else.

 

 _Except, you would_ , a voice accuses in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like the gangster.

 

His throat is tight as he chokes on the truth of it.

 

“Then what in the hell is this, Gav?” Tina demands, thrusting the phone in the space between them. “Don’t tell me you actually went!”

 

The guilt strewn all across his face leaves Tina glaring at him.

 

“...before you get all pissed, lesson fucking learned,” Gavin says. He picks at the cuff of his coat, swallows at the phantom burn he feels in his throat. “It was the same old bullshit: asshole was just using me to try and get back at some other prick who pissed off his fucking boss.”

 

The hitch in his voice has Gavin coloring in shame.

 

Tina falls into silence, the quiet judgment on her face making Gavin self consciously avert his eyes. After a moment of stewing in her anger, she quietly stands up, walks to the nearest trash can, and tosses the burner phone in it.

 

“What the fuck, Chen?!”

 

“Cutting off the problem at the head,” Tina says, seating herself back across from him. “You don’t need assholes like him, Gav: you’re better than this. And I don’t care if I need to beat that into you: I’m not gonna let him or anyone else fuck with you like that!”

 

Gavin feels his eyes begin to mist. Leave it to god damn Tina Chen to be the best damn friend ever and turn him into a weepy mess.

 

Before he knows it, he’s telling her everything (sans the more incriminating parts of the night) about that last exchange he had with Nines. And the more he says, the more he feels like an idiot, hearing out loud how little he had meant to Nines, how he’s always let that asshole manipulate him into crawling back whenever it suited the gangster’s selfish interests.

 

He’s always told himself he’s moved on, though he knows that’s been a lie since he’s still very much stuck in that kitchen on that August morning, clutching the tablet in his trembling hands and demanding with a shaky voice that Nines tell him none of it’s true. That even when the gangster roughs him up, says he all but detests what Gavin is, Gavin is that sad, pathetic man quivering as his entire world collapses around him but clinging to the hope that there is _something_ real between them, some reason he shouldn’t have walked out.

 

There’s not.

 

And now that Gavin sees that, he can finally close the door on Nines for good.

 

* * *

 

Why Hicks insisted on riding with Gavin, the detective will never fucking know. Probably some bullshit about being a good little lap dog and reporting back to his keeper later. Either way, by the time they roll into the precinct, back from a B&E in the suburbs, Gavin’s two seconds away from throwing open the passenger door, shoving the asshole out, and backing into him a few times just to get him to shut the fuck up. It’s not like he has a fucking SWISH so there’s no automated system stopping him from doing just that.

 

If Chau asks, he can always fall back on the excuse of an old, faulty beater.

 

“—should lighten up a bit,” Hicks says, lightly punching Gavin in the shoulder as if they’re old friends and the sleazy asshole has any god damn right to touch him. “Maybe take that stick outta your ass for two seconds. I know a good place we can go, throw back a few drinks after work later. Whaddya say?”

 

Gavin jabs the button for the elevator. “Not fucking interested.”

 

“Never gonna make friends with that kinda attitude.”  


“Don’t need any more friends, Hicks.”

 

“C’mon, Reed, don’t be like that. Bet you and I have more in common than ya think.”

 

 _Un-fucking-likely_.

 

As the elevator door opens, Gavin steps in hastily and looks pointedly over Hicks’ shoulder. He gives a low whistle. “Daaamn, you see that shit Connie’s wearing today?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Hicks scans the entrance as the doors of the elevator slide shut. When he realizes the secretary isn’t there, he lunges towards the elevator. “Reed, you fu—!”

 

Gavin smirks, only removing his finger from the button once the elevator begins its ascent. The sleazebag’s been creeping on Chau’s assistant since before Gavin’s transfer. He feels sorry for the poor woman, even if Gavin’s not exactly her favorite person. However, she was grateful the other day when Hicks went full creeper, asking her all sorts of invasive shit, and Gavin ‘accidentally’ crashed into the detective, causing him to spill his coffee all over himself. Seeing the humiliation on the asshole’s face had been worth it.

 

When the elevator opens onto the third floor, he’s surprised to see their department in some state of mini chaos: officers milling about in a panic, Chau’s red face snapping orders at everyone, some of his more crooked coworkers looking two seconds away from a stroke…

 

“Reed, where have you been?” Gonzales demands, indicating for him to follow her. She almost appears spooked, a small frown pulling at the edge of her lips. Gavin tries to keep up with her long strides.

 

“Was at a B&E on Fifth.”

 

“You didn’t get my message?”

 

With Hicks talking his ear off and then having to drive them back, Gavin hadn’t even thought to look at his phone. “Didn’t have a chance to check. The fuck’s going on? It’s a god damn zoo in here.”

 

She leads him towards one of the briefing rooms and Gavin’s surprised to see a few security guards standing outside of it. Two men and a woman – large, muscular, and wearing expressions that say they have no time for anyone’s bullshit. He tries not to show he’s intimidated, puffs out his chest a little. And now that he has the pectorals and six pack for it, he feels he can play up the facade, even if he knows he would never be able to take on any of them.

 

“You’re not gonna to believe who showed up,” Gonzales whispers to him before walking past the largest of the security guards and entering into the room.

 

As Gavin shuts the door behind him, he does a double take when he sees _who_ is sitting in the middle of the table, unable to hide his surprise.

 

“Lieutenant, I was beginning to worry you had forgotten about me,” Elijah Kamski says, his tone playful.

 

The charming grin Cyberlife’s founder and CEO wears sets Gavin on edge. No way he trusts that fucking look on the man’s face, Kamski’s carefully polished appearance a far cry from the way he casually leans forward, exuding the kind of presence that demands everyone’s attention. His clean shaven jaw and pale skin make his blue eyes shine brightly and they twinkle with a particular kind of interest as they fall on Gavin.

 

Yet, for all that the detective must grudgingly admit that the man is handsome—even if his man bun screams 2010s douchebag—there’s something unsettling about the way he’s looking at the detective that sends a chill down Gavin’s spine.

 

“You’re a difficult man to forget,” Gonzales remarks, though everything about her tone suggests that she wishes she could.

 

Kamski chuckles, the empty warmth in the forced sound only putting the detective more on edge. Beside him, Chloe wears a pleasant smile, the kind any one who didn’t know better would mistake for genuine but Gavin suspects it’s as rehearsed as every aspect of her demeanor. She’s the face of Kamski’s technological empire, the darling he’s groomed as he reaps the rewards for her intellect. She’s about as trustworthy as every other two-faced asshole who’s fallen under Kamski’s influence.

 

“I am told I leave quite the impression,” Kamski says, nonchalantly. His eyes once more flicker to Gavin.

 

“This is Detective Gavin Reed. He will be assisting me in conducting this interview,” the lieutenant says, sitting across from Kamski. “Detective, I’m sure you recognize Elijah Kamski and Chloe Weber from Cyberlife. This is their attorney, Caroline Phillips. Mr. Kamski has graciously offered to submit the security footage we requested and is willing to answer any questions we may have.”

 

Gavin cautiously seats himself across from Kamski’s shrewd-eyed lawyer.

 

“It’s the very least I can do,” Kamski says, his smile shark like. “Anything to help you in your investigation. It’s such a shame we still live in a day and age where these kinds of crimes can happen to anyone.”

 

 _Or anyone who pisses you off, you fucking snake,_ Gavin thinks, bristling.

 

“As you are aware that my client’s time is valuable, I would strongly urge that you keep your questions to the point and brief,” the attorney says.

 

“Now, Caroline, we would not want the Lieutenant to feel as if her time is any less valuable. Any appointments I have can always be rescheduled.”

 

“I’ll try not to keep you here,” Gonzales answers, not buying Kamski’s smarmy act. She taps on the conference table and a touch display emerges on the surface in front of her. “This interview will have both audio and visual recording. I am Lieutenant Janice Gonzales and assisting me is Detective Gavin Reed, working on behalf of the Sixth Precinct. Would you please state your full names for the record?”

 

“Elijah Kamski, founder and CEO of Cyberlife.”

 

“Chloe Weber, head of research and development and spokesperson for Cyberlife.”

 

“Caroline Phillips, partner of Phillips and Weissman and the legal counsel representing both Mr. Kamski and Ms. Weber.”

 

“Let’s get right to it.” Gonzales taps one of the holographic keys and an image of Aleksi appears before both Kamski and Chloe on the table in front of them.

 

Gavin sneaks a glance at the glass wall looking out into the bullpen: Chau looks ready to shit himself as he continues to pace around in distress. _Bet the asshole’s worried Kamski’s gonna take away his fat monthly ‘bonus’ for this._

 

“Do either of you recognize the man in this photo?”

 

“No,” Chloe answers simply, her face a blank.

 

“No, I do not,” Kamski replies, looking as equally unaffected.

 

Gavin calls bullshit but he has to admit, Kamski does sell it. The asshole may not have been there that night but he has no doubt the prick knows who Nines killed.

 

“How about this man?”

 

The next image is of Zlatko.

 

“That is Zlatko Andronikov,” Kamski says. “I met him some months ago at a benefit. Chloe, do you remember which one that was?”

 

“I believe that was the cancer benefit you attended in August of last year.”

 

“Ah, right. They served that Sicilian vintage I’ve been trying to get you to track down—”

 

“Mr. Kamski, can you please stay focused?” Gonzales is tight lipped as she adds, somewhat tersely, “The man in the first photo is our victim: Aleksi Andronikov, the nephew of Zlatko. Are you saying you’ve had no previous contact with the victim, in spite of your acquaintance with Mr. Andronikov?”

 

“My introduction to Mr. Andronikov was brief: we weren’t even seated at the same table,” Kamski adds, with a shrug. “Beyond some empty promise to consider funding one of his future projects, we barely spoke that night. I haven’t heard from him since.”

 

“What project was that?”

 

“Lieutenant, inquiring into the private practices of my client’s company is beyond the scope of what you are investigating,” the lawyer warns.

 

“I have no objection to answering: curiosity, after all, should be rewarded.” Fuck, does Gavin wish he can punch the obnoxious smirk off the asshole’s face. “Andronikov...likes to tinker. He claims to have connections in Russia to renowned scientists working in the field of robotics. At the time, I had been considering redirecting company funds towards the research and development of artificial intelligence. That has been shelved, however, so that Cyberlife can focus on the development and distribution of thirium as a biofuel.”

 

Gavin snorts derisively.

 

A cool pair of blue eyes fall on the detective, Kamski’s head tilting minutely in interest. “I take it you’re not a fan of Cyberlife, Detective?”

 

“It’s not the company I have a problem with.”

 

Gavin’s dark look only seems to embolden Kamski.

 

“I understand that thirium is a controversial issue for some.”

 

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Gavin says, glaring across the table. “Detroit got on just fine before this bullshit ‘Fossil Fuel Free’ initiative. The fuck am I supposed to do when 2044 hits and I can’t fill up my god damn tank?”

 

“Sea levels have risen in the last decades, flooding many of our coastal cities. Natural disasters and forest fires occur with more regularity due to the carbon emitted by drivers who insist on using those classic vehicles. If you want my advice, Detective Reed: invest in an automated one that runs on thirium. You’d be doing the environment a favor.”

 

“And putting more money right into your god damn pocket, how convenient,” Gavin sneers, his hackles raised at Kamski’s condescending tone. “I don’t need no fucking machine telling me how to god damn drive.”

 

“...you don’t seem to like ‘machines’,” Kamski notes, with a hint of amusement.

 

“Can we get back to the interview?” Gonzales says, giving Gavin a look.

 

He folds his arms over his chest but snaps his mouth shut instead of retorting.

 

“You never answered my question, Mr. Kamski: did you know the victim?”

 

“I did not.”

 

“Then would you mind explaining this next image to me?”

 

One of the photos Gavin had taken of Aleksi and Zlatko outside the Cyberlife warehouse appears on the table. Kamski looks at it impassively. “That’s one of our older warehouses, the one you asked I provide security footage for. Currently, we are in the process of moving all production to one of our newer facilities.”

 

“I’m not interested in _what_ your company is doing but _who_ you see in that photo.”

 

He scrutinizes the image for a moment and then shrugs. “I’m guessing one of those men is Zlatko and another his nephew, if I am to deduce anything from your line of questioning.”

 

“Do you know why Zlatko and Aleksi were outside your warehouse the night Aleksi was murdered?”

 

“My client has no professional, nor personal, relationship with the men you are questioning him about,” Phillips cuts in.

 

“It’s a simple question, counselor, one Mr. Kamski can answer for himself.”

 

“I have no clue,” Elijah says, appearing somewhat bored. “What Zlatko chooses to do in his free time is of no business to me.”

 

“Where were you on the evening of January 6th?”

 

“Mr. Kamski and I were on a conference call with potential buyers in China at Cyberlife headquarters,” Chloe says. “While I am not at liberty to discuss the personal business dealings of the company, I can confirm that Mr. Kamski and I were otherwise occupied from 10:30 PM until well after midnight.”

 

“The details would bore you anyway,” Kamski adds.

 

“I’ll be the judge of what ‘bores’ me,” Gonzales says, frostily. She accesses video footage, keying in specific times before projecting it from the center of the table. Gavin straightens in his seat as he recognizes Zlatko and his crew, taken the night that the deal was supposed to go down. “I’ve had a chance to review the footage Cyberlife sent this morning. This was taken at approximately 11:21 PM on the night of January 6th, from the camera facing the docks outside your warehouse. This man here, who we have identified as Zlatko Andronikov, approaches one of your security guards.”

 

It’s hard to see Zlatko clearly with the angle of the camera but Gavin remembers: Zlatko went to ask the guard something before he—

 

_Shit!_

 

“He then leaves the premises with his nephew and the rest in his company,” Gonzales says. “We suspect they went to the neighboring warehouse. This is the last time Aleksi was seen alive.”

 

She glances over at Gavin, who shifts uncomfortably. He told her Zlatko had gone into the Cyberlife warehouse. That’s why they requested this footage in the first place. She knows he lied.

 

“I don’t know what you expect me to say about any of this,” Kamski says, leaning back comfortably in his seat.

 

“A man may have been murdered near your company’s property. Do you mean to tell me that _nobody_ working at your warehouse that night reported hearing or seeing anything strange?”

 

“If they had, they would have been advised to contact the police immediately,” Chloe answers. “It is Cyberlife policy that all employees report any activity that would be in violation of their safety to the appropriate authorities. At Cyberlife, we value not only the satisfaction of our customers but the safe work culture on which the company has been founded.”

 

If Gavin wasn’t trying to sink into his chair to escape the inevitable questioning that would come from Gonzales, he would be rolling his eyes at that answer. Chloe sounds like a damn Cyberlife infomercial.

 

“We’ll need a list of the employees working at the warehouse that night,” Gonzales says. “And if there are any other security cameras facing a different angle, we will be requesting more footage from that evening.”

 

“Cyberlife already sent you all that they had available from that warehouse on that evening,” the lawyer says, firmly. “My client will provide the information you have requested. Now, if we are done here—”

 

“You’ve said very little, Detective Reed,” Kamski cuts in. He leans forward in his chair, sets his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his fist contemplatively. “I’m curious. A fine detective like yourself must have his theories. What do _you_ think happened that night?”

 

And the way his blue eyes shine with interest tells Gavin Kamski knows _exactly_ what happened in the warehouse that night.

 

_Asshole’s fucking toying with me._

 

All eyes turn to the detective and Gavin feels himself begin to sweat.

 

“That is what we are trying to piece together,” Gonzales says, coming to Gavin’s rescue. She shuts off the security footage still playing. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your appointments, Mr. Kamski. We thank you for coming in person and taking the time to conduct this interview.”

 

“My pleasure,” Kamski practically purrs, standing up. Both Chloe and Phillips do the same. “If there is anything you need at all, Chloe will provide you with a way to reach me. Please pass on my condolences to the Andronikovs: I do hope you find the ones responsible for this tragedy.”

 

Once all three exit the room, Gavin sees Chau following on the heels of Kamski’s entourage, speaking animatedly. The boot licker’s probably trying to save some god damn face and though Kamski doesn’t look the least bit pissed off, there’s a hardness to his smile that makes it far too disingenuous.

 

Gonzales, leaning against the conference table with her arms folded, gives Gavin a look that makes his insides constrict. “You told me they went into the Cyberlife warehouse. You said _that_ is where the deal was happening.”

 

“I thought the one Zlatko went into was Kamski’s,” Gavin lies.

 

Irritably, Gonzales brings up the map function on the touch screen and punches in an address. A map of a section of the docks comes up. “ _This_ is the Cyberlife warehouse. _This one,_ beside it, was abandoned after Ford went out of business. How in the hell did you get these two confused?! Did you even look at the maps I sent you before the stake out?!”

 

Gavin mumbles sheepishly under his breath, hopes that Gonzales buys it. Lying was a shitty move to begin with but he had been hoping Gonzales wouldn’t figure it out and have police crawling all over the place.

 

“I expected _better_ from you, Reed,” Gonzales snaps and he can’t help but feel the guilt eat away at him. “With a Cyberlife warehouse, we would have had to request a warrant to search it. We don’t need one for a place that’s been abandoned. Now, if this is our crime scene, whoever murdered Andronikov would have had almost two weeks to clean it up!”

 

She storms towards the door and Gavin, awkwardly, follows after her. “We, uh, gonna go check it out?”

 

She turns abruptly, anger burning in her dark eyes. “I sent a detective and forensic team to the site before Kamski showed up. _I_ am going right now to follow up with them. _You_ can work on that report from the B&E you and Hicks investigated this morning.”

 

...and that was how Gavin found himself benched. Again.

 

Story of his fucking life.

 

The only good that came out of looking like an idiot who doesn’t know how to do his fucking job is Gonzales believing he’s actually a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to do his fucking job. Gavin’s a bit offended that she bought it that easily.

 

He’s well into his report, tapping moodily on the keys, when a shadow falls across his desk. “For the last fucking time, Hicks, I’m not god damn interested in getting drinks with you.”

 

“Should I be jealous?”

 

Gavin glances up from the computer, feels a warm throb in his chest as he sees Rupert standing with two coffees. From that cafe him and Tina like going to.

 

“Just my idiot partner trying to buddy it up with me,” Gavin mumbles as his cheeks heat. He accepts one of the coffees. “Y-you didn’t have to do this.”

 

“I was in the neighborhood, thought you could use a pick me up,” Rupert answers.

 

Touched by the gesture, Gavin leans in and kisses Rupert softly. He’d always avoided PDA like the plague at the DPD but that was back when he was dating his coworker and he actually gave two shits about his job. Call him jaded but the rampant corruption at the Sixth has started to wear on him.

 

Someone behind them wolf whistles so Gavin flips them off.

 

“If this is how you’re gonna greet me, I should do this more often,” Rupert teases against his lips.

 

He goes on lunch, spends most of it in the break room with Rupert. Since the weekend, Gavin’s come to better terms with his last break up and he’s found that having Rupert around has made it easier. They had another movie night on Tuesday and Gavin had stayed over, though he stopped short of taking it as far as they could go when the kissing and grinding got heated. He knows he tends to jump into things, do really stupid shit and worry about the consequences later, so he wants to be sure he’s ready before committing to anything.

 

By the time lunch is over, Gavin’s dreading going back to his desk and not only because of the unfinished report waiting for him. It’s with the lingering sensation of Rupert’s lips pressed to his, the whispered promise of “See you later” that gets Gavin through the rest of his shift.

 

A few hours later, fresh from his workout, Gavin’s leaning against the door frame, a coy but hesitant smirk on his lips. There’s a shift that happened some point between Rupert comforting him the weekend before and the coffee he had brought earlier today. A palpable, mutual want lingers in the air between them and this time, when Gavin claims the grad student’s lips in a heated kiss, it’s not the ghosts of boyfriends past weighing heavily in his thoughts.

 

“Y-you’re sure?” Rupert pants against his lips, their clothes strewn across the apartment, tangled together on the couch.

 

Not even Perry squawking all sorts of nonsense can break whatever hold’s come over Gavin.

 

“Fuck yeah,” Gavin groans, grinding his bare hips against his.

 

He stays most of the night, reluctantly disentangles himself from Rupert’s embrace well before the sun has risen. Rupert doesn’t have any classes until the afternoon so the lucky bastard gets to sleep in while Gavin needs to head home for a change of clothes.

 

There’s a bounce in his step that not even the unforgiving cold can dampen as he walks up the last flight of stairs to his floor. For the first time in forever, he feels as if everything’s gonna be fucking _okay_ and he’s not hopped out of a frying pan into the open flame.

 

But that all changes the moment his eyes fall to the unmarked manila envelope placed outside his door. A creeping sensation, as if the very eyes have walls and are carefully scrutinizing his reaction, a prickling at the back of his neck. He glances over his shoulder but all he sees are the same, off-white walls and peeling paint that’s always been there.

 

Anxiously, he kneels down, takes the envelope in hand. With a shaky exhale, he reaches inside.

 

Photos. The first is of him sitting in his car, waiting for it to heat up. Staring miserably down at the burner phone he’s clutching. His heart thuds rapidly as he realizes that must have been taken in the parking lot the morning he went to meet Tina.

 

The next is of him at the cafe with Tina, her hand on his wrist.

 

The last is from only a few hours before, a shot of him kissing Rupert in the hallway of Rupert’s apartment building, taken through the window.

 

The photos fall from Gavin’s hands.

 

As he stares down at them in horror, a message written on the back of one of them, in a bold, unfamiliar hand, glares back up at him:

 

**_A_ _N EYE FOR AN EYE_ **

 

* * *

 

He barely sleeps for the next few days, can’t walk more than a few steps without looking behind him, panicking whenever he sees a shadow fall across his vision. Not even the warm texts Rupert sends him nor the gentle purring of Socks curled up in his lap can calm his anxiety. Some guy at the gym offered to help him with reps and Gavin snapped viciously at the man, voice pitching and cheeks coloring when the guy declared him a ‘douche’ and stormed off.

 

He’s not fucking okay and no amount of dorky pet pics or Tina reassuring him that no asshole’s gonna get the jump on her will make it okay.

 

Once Saturday rolls around, Gavin’s a fucking wreck. The large bags under his eyes and deep lines in his face reflect the toll that the threat has had on him. The only reason he can stay awake at this point is the copious amount of coffee he’s been drinking.

 

[Rupert Jan 21 13:11 PM]

_we stil on 4 tonite?_

 

Gavin’s been texting Rupert even more than usual. He hasn’t told him about the threat, doesn’t want him to worry. The only thing keeping him somewhat at ease is their constant correspondence.

 

[Gavin Jan 21 13:11 PM]

_u bet ;)_

 

He tries to focus on the screen in front of him but the words start to blur. Tiredly, he rubs at his eyes. A prickling at the back of his neck sets him on edge and he twirls around in his seat, glares at the asshole sitting behind him. “The fuck you looking at?”

 

Hicks takes a good, hard look at his partner. “You alright, Reed?”

 

“Why the fuck do you care?”

 

This is the last thing he needs: his idiot partner acting like he has any genuine concern for his well being.

 

Hicks sighs and gets up, off to do whatever the hell that prick gets up to when he’s not being a pain in the ass. Gavin doesn’t give a shit. He just wants to not feel as if he’s in a fishbowl and everyone’s peering in on him, watching as he constantly flounders and bumps into the tank’s walls.

 

He just wants two god damn seconds that he knows are _his._

 

Grumbling, he twirls back to stare at his computer. Kamski’s most likely still keeping tabs on him, especially since Cyberlife’s been brought into the Andronikov investigation. But Gavin’s done nothing to piss the man off...yet.

 

That leaves only one person: Zlatko. The prick most likely blames Gavin for the indirect role he played in his nephew’s death. Chau wants Zlatko behind bars and Gonzales has been gunning for him since those bodies washed up last summer. It was only a matter of time before he finally started targeting someone at the Sixth.

 

“Reed, Gonzales: my office, now!”

 

Startled, Gavin exchanges a look with Gonzales and follows her into Chau’s office.

 

“I’ve been reviewing the evidence in the Andronikov homicide case,” Chau says, barely waiting for the door to close behind Reed. “Is there a reason neither of you have pursued a warrant?”

 

Gonzales looks at him in confusion. “You mean, besides the lack of evidence pointing to any one suspect? There are leads we are still pursuing and it’s not as if there’s some public outcry demanding justice. We need _time_ , Chau, if we’re gonna do this right.”

 

Chau looks expectantly at Gavin and it takes him a moment to realize the captain’s also waiting for his answer. He shrugs. “Yeah, what she said.”

 

“Who are your suspects?”

 

Gonzales becomes visibly uncomfortable at that. “There’s an ongoing investigation at the central station on a suspected hitman thought to be somehow affiliated with Kamski or Cyberlife. It’s a long shot but I was hoping to get your permission to request Lieutenant’s Anderson’s case files, see if we can find any connection with the Andronikov murder.”

 

Gavin freezes upon hearing that. Gonzales has barely spoken to him about the case in the last few days. Whether she’s still angry with him or suspects he knows more than he’s letting on, he can’t be sure.

 

“What makes you think Cyberlife or Kamski would have any interest in some Russian?” Chau demands.

 

Gonzales hesitates. Gavin knows she’s been trying to stay as under the radar as possible, to avoid pissing off the wrong people, but it’s clear that she’s at a breaking point. Her brows furrow and she can’t help but retort, in a clipped voice, “Red Ice didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Thirium becomes the hottest commodity on the market and suddenly, some new drug appears, that we’ve now confirmed is made from thirium, and you’re telling me there’s no connection?”

 

“Drug peddlers experiment all the time. It could have come from anywhere.”

 

“But you know _exactly_ where Kamski’s wealth came from,” Gonzales hisses.

 

“Watch it, Gonzales. I’ve no time for your conspiracy theories.”

 

The lieutenant bristles visibly. “Talk to any of our informants: word on the street is that the Red Ice dealers had some fallout with the Russians. We _know_ there’s some turf war going on. So don’t you try and play it like a Russian dying near a Cyberlife warehouse is a god damn coincidence.”

 

“And what evidence do you have to support these crazy accusations?” Chau snaps, standing up angrily out of his chair. “Let’s review: you have photos of Zlatko Andronikov with his nephew at the docks, taken before his time of death. We have an eye witness statement from a Cyberlife employee who said he saw _only_ Zlatko and the people he was with enter the nearby warehouse. This isn’t god damn rocket science, Lieutenant!”

 

“It’s pretty damn convenient he saw _only_ Zlatko and his party go in there,” Gonzales replies, getting just as fired up. “Reed, you were there: tell him what you saw!”

 

Two pairs of angry eyes turn to him. He shuffles his weight uncomfortably between his feet.

 

He should do it. He should throw that fucking asshole under the bus. Nines fucking deserves it after all the shit he put him through.

 

“I, uh, can’t really say,” the detective mumbles. “Too fucking dark.”

 

He looks down guiltily as Gonzales glare bears into him.

 

He’s such a fucking coward.

 

“Given that both of you have shown you’re incapable of doing your god damn jobs, I have taken the liberty of requesting the warrant for Zlatko Andronikov’s arrest myself,” Chau says, angrily. “I’ve sent a few of our officers to the Andronikov mansion for the arrest.”

 

“This is bullshit!” Gonzales says. “You know he didn’t murder his own nephew!”

 

“What I know, Lieutenant, are the facts: Zlatko and Aleksi went in that warehouse and a body turned up a few days later. Now, unless you want to get written up, I suggest you reel in that attitude!”

 

“You know what, Chau? Write me up. Because I am _done_ with your bullshit!”

 

She storms out and slams the door behind her. Through the glass walls of Chau’s office, Gavin sees many of their coworkers glance worriedly at the lieutenant as she grabs her keys off her desks and heads for the elevator.

 

 _Jesus Christ, Gonzales,_ Gavin thinks, with a mixture of guilt and pride. It’s time someone stuck it to Chau, anyway.

 

“Carry on working on those reports I sent you,” Chau says, frostily. “And the next time I catch you disobeying orders and sneaking off to warehouses, you’ll be spending more than two months on suspension.”

 

Gavin leaves the captain’s office in a foul mood without a word. Until well into the afternoon, he stews at his desk, types up his reports without even a snide remark when Hicks tries pestering him again. Zlatko’s yet to be brought in and an APB is issued but though it was his case, Gavin’s left at the precinct to finish off his work.

 

 _Fuck everything_ , he thinks, glaring bitterly at his screen.

 

His buzzing phone interrupts his train of thought. He glances at it, a sick feeling percolating low in his chest, as _NO CALLER ID_ flashes on the screen.

 

 _Don’t answer it, dumbass,_ he tells himself.

 

The last unknown number he blocked had been Nines.

 

He tries to ignore it, a flurry of emotions roiling inside of him as he recalls how cold and cruel Nines had been. How Nines has only ever used him. How Nines will only use him again if Gavin gives him the chance.

 

He’s finally getting his life together. For fucking real this time.

 

But like those red ice junkies Gavin’s seen waste away on the streets, he keeps coming back for another hit.

 

“Thought you didn’t have the time to deal with my shit,” Gavin snaps into the phone, answering the call before he can stop himself.

 

“Time is something I have in abundance. I can’t say the same for your ‘friend’,” a familiar voice says.

 

It takes him a good, long moment to identify that voice. When he does, a creeping dread has his blood running cold. “What the fuck do you want, Zlatko?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

 

He glances around the bullpen cautiously: no one’s paying attention to him and with Hicks gone, there should be no one trying to listen in. Still, he leans forward, sets his elbow on his desk, and lowers his voice, “Don’t give me that cryptic bullshit: Rupert and Chen had nothing to do with that shit that went down so you better stay the fuck away from them.”

 

“I’m more interested in taking my revenge on those responsible.”

 

There’s only one person he could possibly mean.

 

“If you got a problem with Nines, take it up with him,” Gavin grumbles. “You pricks do whatever the fuck you want anyway.”

 

The cold laugh he receives is only making his anxiety spike. “I have. However, he’s proving a lot less...cooperative than I’d hoped.”

 

An odd muffling sound could be heard in the background.

 

“You should keep closer tabs on your friends, Detective.”

 

It’s as if the very air has been pulled from his lungs, a tightness in his chest that has him gripping his phone in a vice. The explosion of panic has Gavin retorting viciously, though the perceptible hitch in his voice gives away the lie, “Do whatever the fuck you want with him. What makes you think I give a shit about that prick?”

 

“You do. And that’s why you’ll come to this location I’m forwarding you tonight. Let’s settle this once and for all. Should you decide he’s not worth it, well...’accidents’ happen all the time in your line of work. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to Detective Chen...”

 

“You stay the fuck away from her, you fucking prick!”

 

“Careful, detective. Don’t go testing my patience: I assure you, I don’t have much of it,” Zlatko answers. “Midnight, sharp. Play nice and I might just let him live. However, I can’t say much about what the _quality_ of that life would be like.”

 

“How the fuck do I even know that’s him?” Gavin sneers, as the odd muffling sound grows louder.

 

“You don’t.”

 

And the line clicks.

 

For a long minute, Gavin stares down at the phone in his hand numbly, so many thoughts swirling through his mind as his pulse races rapidly. This is a set up. Zlatko’s simply trying to lure Gavin to a discreet location so he can finish him off. The asshole isn’t bold enough to strike Gavin at his home, not with half the police in the city out looking for him.

 

There’s no way he has Nines. That prick’s remained under everyone’s radar for years. Except...if he’s been doing drug runs for Kamski…

 

Hastily, Gavin opens the settings of his phone and unblocks the number Nines had used all those months before to contact him. His hands are trembling so bad, the phone nearly slips from his fingers as he dials the number.

 

“ _The number you are trying to reach is currently out of service.”_

 

_FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK_

 

“Jesus Christ, Reed, you sure you’re—”

 

“Bite me, Hicks!”

 

He doesn’t care that people are staring at them. Gavin pushes past his partner, makes for the elevator. He punches impatiently at the button until the doors finally open and heads to the main floor.

 

Once inside his car, he barely gives it enough time to defrost, peels out of the parking lot so quickly that he nearly hits another officer coming back to the station. Chau’s gonna have his ass for this later but he _needs_ to see Nines, needs to know that asshole hasn’t got himself caught by Zlatko.

 

The drive to Nines’ condo is way too fucking long. Why in the fuck is there this much traffic on a Saturday afternoon? Don’t people have better shit to do than be on the roads?

 

He practically throws himself through the entrance doors, rushes to the elevator, when a firm hand grabs him by his coat and pulls him back.

 

“Sir, where do you think you’re going?”

 

Fucking security.

 

Gavin glares up at the tall, hulking man. “Detective Gavin Reed. I’m here to interview one of your residents, Richard Stern. Can you fucking let me go already?”

 

When the security guard reluctantly releases him, Gavin roughly pulls out his badge and all but shoves it in the asshole’s face. Damn right he’s playing the fucking police card.

 

“Mr. Stern’s not in right now,” the security guard says, eyeing the detective suspiciously.

 

“You know when he’s gonna be back?”

 

“I don’t make it my business to know the personal schedules of our residents,” the guard answers, coolly.

 

_Dick._

 

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

 

“He’s not here. What more do you need to know?”

 

Gavin’s about to snap back when the concierge cuts in, “Mr. Stern hasn’t been seen since last night. If you would like to leave your contact, I can let Mr. Stern know you stopped by, Detective.”

 

That dread that’s been coursing through his veins nearly has the detective hyperventilating.

 

 _Asshole’s probably been running errands for Kamski all night_ , he tries telling himself.

 

But the more he says it in his head, the less he believes it.

 

Numbly, he hands his contact card to Jerry.

 

It’s some hours later, as he’s pacing his apartment, Socks watching with rapt curiosity as Gavin slips into his own madness, that he tells himself he’s not going. The silent frenzy he’s worked himself into is made only worse as he’s waited impatiently for the call that never came.

 

 _The fuck you get yourself into this time, prick,_ Gavin thinks, irritably.

 

He glares down at his cat.

 

“Asshole gives zero shits about me. I bet that fucker would sooner put to a gun to my head to save his own damn ass,” Gavin tells Socks.

 

Socks _meows_ in something that may be agreement. Or maybe he’s hungry. Fuck...did Gavin forget to feed him?! No...furry little asshole’s always hungry and is probably just trying to get more food out of him.

 

“I’m not fucking going,” Gavin declares, for probably the fifteenth time in the last hour, slumping against his counter with his arms folded over his chest. “Fuck that asshole! He wants to go starting a turf war with every crazy piece of shit in this city, that’s his own fucking problem.”

 

Socks rolls on his side and starts pawing at the detective’s foot.

 

He’s supposed to be getting ready to go to Rupert’s. So long as he’s with Rupert, no one Zlatko sends will get within 5 yards of the grad student. Tina’s also assured him she’s fine, told him to not be a fucking moron and that she didn’t last 10 years as a cop pissing herself every time someone throws an empty threat at her.

 

Who the fuck cares if Nines is actually captured? One less gangster on the streets of Detroit.

 

But as the minutes tick by, Gavin has only to glance around his apartment to see the reminders of Nines reflected on every surface: the couch where the asshole could never sit still for two fucking seconds without assaulting Gavin with his hands and lips. The bed where breathless sighs and throaty moans pressed into the space between them. The kitchen where Nines always stood over a pot, meticulously preparing savory meals that Gavin thought were often wasted on his uncultured palette.

 

It may have all been an _act_ but Nines is still _something_ to Gavin, as much as he hates to admit it.

 

“Fuck!” he snaps, more than a little angry with himself as he snatches his keys.

 

Time to go save his prick of an ex boyfriend.


	6. Staple Your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin meets with Zlatko to negotiate for Nines' life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back! Not that it's been _that_ long. But given the bit of the cliffhanger we left on last chapter, I wanted to be sure I had this one ready for Sunday. Chapters 6 and 7 get emotionally heavy so prepare yourselves for what you're about to read. Though this one is a bit shorter, the next one is twice the length of this chapter so if you feel shortchanged, I hope the next update will make up for it. That being said, it might take a bit longer for me to edit the next chapter due to the size so I might not post until maybe Monday or Tuesday of next week. We'll see how the week goes.
> 
> Continuing with some shout outs to the amazing readers: [timothy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothy/pseuds/timothy), omg I now know where your icon is from because I sent my bestie that meme earlier today!, [muttthecowcat22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muttthecowcat22/pseuds/muttthecowcat22), [interstellar-dioscuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellar_dioscuri/pseuds/interstellar_dioscuri), [ChernaKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChernaKat/pseuds/ChernaKat), [not_a_casual_fan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_casual_fan/pseuds/not_a_casual_fan), Hex, and [FallLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallLover/pseuds/FallLover). Thank you to those who have followed this series for a while now and those who have recently discovered it. It's been great getting feedback from you and being able to discuss (or perhaps justify my own sadism XD) the stuff that's been going on in this series. Your support means everything to me <3
> 
> Onto the fic!

Gavin adjusts his leather coat, tugs on the hood to try and cover the bit of skin exposed to the cold, night air. He exhales with a shiver, trudges towards the pier and, for not the first time since leaving his apartment, wonders what the fuck he’s doing. His quick stopover at the precinct was to snag the kevlar vest he’s wearing under his sweater, remembering too well how trigger happy everyone got last time the moment tensions flare. Nines’ snide voice, _“_ _I am not so shortsighted as to walk into a potential negotiation with an arms dealer without properly preparing myself”_ may have also been echoing in his head as he strapped it on.

 

_Asshole,_ Gavin thinks, shivering. _The fucking shit my stupid ass does for you, you ungrateful prick._

 

He has no back up. But the one thing he’s got is an idea, one that makes him feel disgusted with himself: he’s willing to destroy and corrupt whatever evidence the Sixth has on Zlatko if Zlatko lets Nines go. He’ll become just like those other fuckers at the Sixth, botching crime scenes to keep their pockets fat.

 

But the loss of his integrity, and potentially his job, for Nines’ life?

 

Fair fucking trade.

 

As he stops in the middle of the empty pier, he takes an anxious scan of his surroundings. It’s a little before midnight but all he sees are some empty shipping crates and an old, neglected ship tied to the pier. Though it’s below zero, only some chunks of the Detroit River are frozen, gentle waves licking at the wooden pillars. With an irate sigh, Gavin walks to the pier’s edge and stares out into the blanket of darkness stretching towards the opposite shore.

 

_Where are you, you mother fucker?_

 

He tells himself the erratic thumping in his chest isn’t out of fear. He can handle fuckwads like Zlatko, has been doing this shit long enough to not let power-hungry fuckers walk all over him.

 

But nothing he tells himself can silence the creeping sense that something about all of this is _wrong._

 

Gavin hears a sound, turns towards it quickly, hand instinctively going to his weapon. He relaxes when the dim floodlight falls on the familiar features of Nines’ handsome face. “Nines, Christ, thank god you’re—”

 

“Do you mind explaining to me what in the hell you think you are doing?!” Nines snaps, his face twisting with his anger.

 

Gavin falters mid-step, gaping in confusion at the gangster. But there’s no need to close the distance as Nines is approaching him in a handful of quick, graceful strides, his sleek trench coat billowing behind him. “I-I th-thought—”

 

“No, you know what? I have no interest in hearing whatever inane excuse you come up with!” Nines interrupts, sneering down at the detective. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that you are to stay away from me! Yet I returned to my condominium this evening only to find that you not only showed up but implied that I am somehow a person of interest in whatever investigation you are in! Do you know who owns that condo, Gavin? Do you know _how_ this looks?!”

 

The detective is about to answer that question and realizes, just in time, that it’s rhetorical. Instead, he’s starting to get equally as angry because he came out here to save this fucking prick, to risk his god damn career, and the asshole obviously gives zero fucks about that. “Listen here, you fucking prick—!”

 

“No, _you_ listen, you imbecile! I have spent the better part of the last 24 hours working! I am exhausted, I am well past my point of patience, and the last thing I need is to deal with whatever fucking infatuation you have with me! I do not know how I can make it any more clear that unless you are facing imminent danger, I want _nothing_ to do with you!”

 

Those words rip the wound Nines carved not a week earlier anew and Gavin finds he’s blinking rapidly to hold back the effect it’s having on him. With an angry snarl, he jabs the gangster roughly in the chest. “Y-yeah? Well it’s not like I want anything to do with you, either, asshole!”

 

“Then how in the hell do you explain the incessant texting and demands that I meet you here?” Nines hisses, shoving his phone in Gavin’s face. “What is so important that you needed me here _in person_ to say?!”

 

Gavin snatches the phone angrily, glares down at the screen. With a cold, sinking dread, he realizes that the numerous texts Nines received were from the burner phone Tina tossed out. “...I didn’t send these.”

 

Nines forcefully takes his phone back from Gavin. “Do not play dumb with me, Detective. These came from _your phone_. The one I gave you.”

 

“I know but I didn’t fucking send them! You really fucking think I was gonna keep that phone after all that shit you said to me?!”

 

And that’s when it finally hits him: if he’s here, supposedly, to ‘rescue’ Nines, then why in the hell is Nines not bound up like some damsel in need of saving?

 

A better question: where is Zlatko?

 

The gangster’s eyes narrow as he reaches his own conclusion about how fucked up this all is. But it’s too late: even as Nines tries to withdraw his weapon, five goons descend on them. Gavin’s gun goes flying from his hand, the butt of a shotgun catching the side of his nose and he goes staggering back towards the pier’s edge, crying out and grasping at his busted nose. The acrid stench of copper is almost enough to make him gag, blood spilling off his chin, and everything around him is a hazy blur as his eyes well.

 

He hears a grunt of pain that may be Nines and Gavin blindly charges towards the sound, only to be stopped by the barrel of a shotgun being shoved into his chest. He swipes, misses, and nearly slips on a sheet of ice beneath his feet.

 

“Stop fighting, Detective, or I’m putting a bullet in his fucking head!” a command travels over the sound of Gavin’s struggling.

 

The detective swipes at his eyes, most likely smears blood all over his face in the process. He glares blearily towards where Zlatko is looming over his captive, the semi-automatic pistol he’s holding pressed to the back of Nines’ head. Nines, down on his knees, bleeding from a wound on the left side of his face, looks more put off than terrified, even as Gavin feels his stomach drop at the sight.

 

So he stops resisting, raises his hands in an act of surrender as the woman holding the shot gun cocks it, point blank at his chest, with a sneer.

 

Zlatko barks something in Russian and everyone, with the exception of the woman, turns their weapon on Nines.

 

“I must give you credit, Mr. Stern: you are a very difficult man to track down,” Zlatko says, removing his gun from Nines’ head and walking in a slow circle around him. “Not even our mutual acquaintance had been willing to talk, no matter what I did to to his family. He seemed more convinced he had more to fear from you.”

 

Nines laughs coolly, a dark and sinister smirk on his face. It sends a chill down Gavin’s spine. “That is because anything you did to them, I would have done worse.”

 

“Strong words from the idiot currently on his knees. Admit it, Mr. Stern: you were played.”

 

“I see little value in encouraging your fragile ego. I have nothing to fear from some foreign hack thinking he can dismantle the empire I helped Kamski build,” Nines says, looking far too smug for someone about to get shot in the face.

 

“Fucking Christ, Nines: shut the fuck up!” Gavin warns him.

 

“You should listen to your detective,” Zlatko says.

 

“I’m not _his_ ,” Gavin snarls, trying not to cringe as blood drips on his lips.

 

“You came running, didn’t you? That obviously makes you _something_ to him.”

 

“I think you have overestimated his value to me,” Nines says, frostily.

 

“Perhaps. Or, maybe, I have the two assholes responsible for my nephew’s death right where I need them to be.”

 

He stops circling him, staring down at his captive with a look of unbridled hatred.

 

“Oh? Is that what this is about?” Nines mocks, the tone he’s using making Zlatko’s expression darken. “Your moron of a nephew? Tell me: what did you think of that last package I sent? I thought there was a certain... _je ne sais quoi_ to the lovely way I carved up your dear Aleksi.”

 

With a cry of rage, Zlatko takes the butt of his weapon and strikes it across the right side of Nines’ face. He does this, again and again, his wide frame hiding the assault from Gavin’s eyes. Gavin shouts out—what, he can’t even be sure—his protests briefly silenced when he hears something crack. But as he sees Zlatko raise his arm again, Gavin cries, “Fucking stop already!”

 

Zlatko pauses, glances with something of disinterest to where Gavin remains at the edge of the pier. “Nadya, if he interrupts me again, shoot him.”

 

She raises the gun to his head and Gavin feels as fucking useless as ever, bleeding all over his chin and only able to watch as Zlatko turns his attention back to Nines.

 

“W-wait! I-I can get them to call off the APB! I-I’ll do whatever I have to, just don’t fucking hurt him!”

 

The panic in Gavin’s voice catches the mob leader’s interest, who glances back at the detective with a cold smirk.

 

“There’s nothing you can offer me what will stop me from doing this, detective,” Zlatko says, stepping around until he’s behind Nines.

 

Gavin’s mouth falls open, heart hammering wildly as a cold, sinking fear leaves the blood in his veins flowing like ice. He stares at the giant, vicious spiderweb of cracks in white titanium plating that takes up the bottom right side of Nines’ face. Pale skin pulls away at the plating’s edge until it disappears completely, a red and violent light swirling at Nines’ temple, the point at which the mask meets his real flesh. It’s like something out of a sci-fi thriller and Gavin can’t look at the gangster without that sick dread making him want to recoil in horror.

 

What in the fuck did Nines do to his face?!

 

Zlatko grasps Nines roughly by his hair, tugs back hard enough to expose the line of his throat to the winter chill. Nines’ eyes flicker to Gavin unexpectedly and the revulsion the detective knows is present on his face has Nines’ temple blinking rapidly. Gavin wants to look away but finds he is unable to, even as the clear disgust he’s projecting makes something sad pass over the part of Nines’ face that hasn’t been turned into some robotic monstrosity.

 

“You can hide your face behind your gadgets. But it doesn’t change _what_ he made you into.”

 

Nines flinches as Zlatko’s thick fingers grasp at the edge of the damaged mask. “Do _not_ touch my face!”

 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands,” Zlatko says, cruelly, adding something in Russian that immediately makes Nines stop struggling.

 

“You want to lecture me on fear?” Zlatko continues, as he begins tugging the mask off. “The only reason you have any loyalty left to your master is because you know what he will do to you if you betray him again.”

 

The mask falls to the ground.

 

Nines tries to duck his head but the rough grip Zlatko has on his hair keeps him in place. A startled sound leaves Gavin’s throat, a tightness in his chest as he stares at the extensive damage marring Nines’ once beautiful face. Nines is nearly the mirror image of Ralph, though the scars do not reach as high as his brow and the rough patchwork on his cheek made the wound heal worse than it had on the gangster’s subordinate. The skin looks sewn together in a way that leaves it bumped and raised, like a fucked up version of a Batman villain from those old films Gavin watched as a kid. From the humiliation contorting the gangster’s expression, he can see that the right side of Nines’ face doesn’t move at all.

 

_That asshole! Fucking prick! He fucking..!!!_

 

Blind, white hot rage has the detective shaking with his fists clenched tightly, the Russian woman watching him intently, almost inviting him to give her a reason to shoot. But all Gavin can visualize in his head is how fucking wonderful it would feel to unload a clip into Zlatko’s smug face, shoot him until the asshole isn’t recognizable.

 

Gavin’s eyes flicker to where his gun rests only a few yards away.

 

“That,” Zlatko finishes, with a smirk, “is real power.”

 

He releases Nines and Gavin is shocked to see that the gangster slumps forward, almost as if he’s trying to curl in on himself. He doesn’t look at Gavin at all and, if the detective didn’t know any better, he’d almost think Nines is keeping his face at an angle where Gavin can’t witness the extent of the damage. Like he’s ashamed. He almost wishes he can say something in reassurance because he doesn’t give a shit about the scars. But the barrel of the shotgun keeps his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

 

When Nines glances back up at Zlatko, it’s with his lips curling in a sneer and his eyes flashing with murderous outrage. “If your intention is to bore me to death, you are well on your way to accomplishing that. Though I doubt this is why you have brought me to a secluded pier.”

 

“At least one of you is somewhat clever.”

 

Gavin opens his mouth in protest. “The fucks’ that...”

 

Nadya’s glare has him snapping it back shut.

 

“Your detective is a bit of an idiot,” Zlatko continues, ignoring the indignant sound Gavin makes. “All it took was an empty threat and the moron came thinking he can negotiate for your miserable life. I would say I expected better from the police but my expectations were already pretty low.”

 

“He is not the brightest among his peers and can be quite easy to deceive,” Nines agrees.

 

“Hey, assholes! I’m standing right fucking here!” Gavin shouts, deciding he’s done with being ignored.

 

Nadya’s finger closes on the trigger…

 

“Let him speak. He won’t be squawking for much longer,” Zlatko says, then returning to staring down at his captive. His fingers graze against the violent blinking at Nines’ temple and the gangster ducks his head out of reach with a scowl. “It’s quite fascinating, what Kamski has done to you. A neural implant that links to that mask you’re always wearing. I wonder what other things he’s put in that head of yours. I’d love to have a peek inside...”

 

“You have had your fun, Andronikov,” Nines snaps, “You captured me, just as you wanted. There is no need to keep the detective here: all you will do is incur Kamski’s wrath if you harm him.”

 

“Oh, but I’m not through with him yet.”

 

Zlatko says something to Nadya and she jabs Gavin with the shotgun hard, forcing him back a few paces. His feet hit the edge of the pier and he nearly topples backwards into the icy water, flails his arms to keep his balance. A glance over his shoulder and panic has him seizing up; the drop’s not nearly that of a rooftop but the dark, icy water splashing at the pillars a handful of yards below is not the least bit inviting.

 

“Gonna dump me in the river like you did Miller and Gallagher?” Gavin sneers, ignoring the tremble in his voice. “Really fucking creative.”

 

“They were the only two standing between me and the east side,” Zlatko says, absently. “Tell them I send my regards, wherever the fuck you end up.”

 

Nadya, once again, takes aim.

 

“I killed your sorry excuse for a nephew! And I would gladly kill that insolent snot again! This is between you and I, Andronikov!”

 

There’s an unexpected note of panic that hitches Nines’ voice, one that takes Gavin by surprise. But he’s guessing Nines is only trying to talk his way out of whatever Zlatko has in store for him.

 

Zlatko glares darkly down at the gangster. “I know you would. Aleksi was the son I never had. And you—you fucking took him from me! All for this fucking idiot!”

 

The gun cocks.

 

“You took someone I care about. Now, I’m taking someone from you!”

 

As he hears those words, Gavin can’t help the cold, bitter laugh that spills from his lips. It takes him by surprise that Zlatko would think he’s even _that_ important. He laughs, loud and empty, his chest aching from the force of the sound. Nadya startles, her grip wavering momentarily on the weapon she has aimed at him.

 

“You think this fucking asshole gives a shit about me?” Gavin chuckles, his voice raw and rasping, almost as if he’s been crying. There’s a heavy thud against his rib cage and he inhales shakily to steady his voice, before he adds, “The only person that selfish prick cares about is himself.”

 

It doesn’t matter that Gavin knows he’d do anything for him, even stand at the edge of a fucking pier and beg for Nines’ life if he could. For the longest time, he had believed it was love that made him want to throw himself at whatever dangers to protect the people he cares about. Now, he’s starting to think it’s really because he thinks so little of himself, he knows he has even less to offer the world than a sociopath who traded his morality for his vices years ago.

 

Gavin is nothing. He’s worth nothing.

 

So why did he ever expect Nines to believe otherwise?

 

Throughout all of this, the gangster has said nothing. Gavin doesn’t look at him, doesn’t want to hear Nines voicing how true that is. There are only so many more times the detective can hear it before he knows he’ll break down over how fucking sad his life is.

 

“Do whatever you want to me,” Nines says, quietly. “But let Detective Reed go.”

 

There’s a quiet defeat in the gangster’s voice that catches the detective off guard. He glances over Nadya’s shoulder sharply, but Nines isn’t returning his stare. Instead, the gangster is hunched over, eyes focused on the ground in front of him

 

_Fucking Christ. Is this really how far the asshole’s gonna go to do Kamski’s bidding?_ Gavin thinks, disbelieving there could be any other reason.

 

“Why would I do that? You mutilated my fucking nephew!”

 

Gavin winces as Zlatko smacks Nines hard across the face, the gaudy ring the Russian wears cutting the corner of Nines’ right brow. Blood trickles over the flashes of red at the gangster’s temple.

 

“...I have something I can offer you,” Nines says.

 

Zlatko barks a laugh. “And what is that?”

 

The gangster finally looks up and there is an anger etched in his face, a contempt that goes so deep it’s almost chilling to see. “Kamski.”

 

And with one word, everything that Gavin thinks he knows is turned on its head. He can try to rationalize Nines is just doing this out of spite for Kamski but whatever hatred to gangster harbors for his employer has never been strong enough for him to turn on the drug lord, or he would have done that years ago.

 

No, there has to be some _other_ reason Nines would risk fucking everything and Gavin’s heart gives a desperate thump.

 

“What, exactly, are you offering me?”

 

“Information,” Nines answers. “Anything you want to know. I can tell you locations to all of Kamski’s private residences and pass codes to get into each of them. If you want your revenge, go to its source. I will provide you with all you need to strike back at him.”

 

“And I suppose this is where you negotiate for your life, too?”

 

“On the contrary, you can kill me. I will offer no resistance. But until you let Detective Reed go, I will not tell you anything.”

 

When Gavin realizes what’s being offered, there’s a stuttering in his chest.

 

“Nines, you fucking moron! Y-you c-can’t…!”

 

The detective’s voice cracks and he can’t bring himself to say it, doesn’t want to utter what fate Nines is submitting to.

 

Gray eyes turn to his and there is something so raw and honest in the sadness he sees there, as if the stripping of his literal mask has exposed a truth the gangster’s kept hidden. He’s seen that look before, felt the words Nines could never bring himself to say pressed to his skin in their moments of intimacy. But Nines had never needed to say it because Gavin just _knew_.

 

Just as he knows now.

 

“For the record, Detective, this was a rather poor attempt at a rescue,” Nines says, a soft, bittersweet half-smile on his lips.

 

Gavin swallows back a sob.

 

“How touching,” Zlatko says, sarcastically. He rounds on Nines, prods him roughly at his burning temple with the barrel of his gun. “Let’s say I consider your offer: there is one more thing you can do to... _sweeten_ the deal.”

 

“And what would that be?”

 

“If you want me to release Detective Reed, then beg for his life.”

 

Nines’ jaw visibly tightens at that. Zlatko’s striking him at the one thing Nines values almost as much as his vanity: his pride.

 

“Would you also like me to contact my lawyer so I can provide that to you in writing?”

 

“I wouldn’t get snarky, Mr. Stern. Not with your precious detective’s life in my hands. If you want him to walk away from this, then I want to hear you say those words.”

 

Nines glares.

 

“...please...”

 

It’s whispered quietly enough that Gavin can barely hear it.

 

“Please, what, Mr. Stern?”

 

“Please release Gavin Reed,” the gangster says, this time louder and more terse.

 

There’s an edge to his tone that doesn’t escape Zlatko’s notice. “Try it with a bit more feeling.”

 

“Enough of these games, Andronikov!” Nines snaps. “I will tell you _everything_ you want to know! But I’m begging you to release the detective this instant!”

 

Zlatko stops. He looks thoughtfully towards Gavin but there’s nothing about the arms dealer’s expression that the detective trusts.

 

A cruel smile spreads across Zlatko’s face and he kicks Nines savagely in the chest, the gangster falling forward onto his hands with a grunt. “You really believe I give a shit about Kamski? I think it’s time I show Detective Reed the same mercy you showed my nephew!”

 

“N-No—!”

 

Nines’ shout is drowned by the sound of the firing shotgun. Pain explodes from the center of Gavin’s chest as the bullet pierces his sweater and scatters against the Kevlar vest. The force is enough to send him toppling off the pier, his mouth open in a silent scream. He flails but there is nothing to grasp onto and all too soon, he’s slamming into the ice cold water.

 

Everything hurts. His entire fucking body feels as if it’s on fire inside, while the freezing water seeps beneath his clothing and bites as his flesh. Like a thousand needles stabbing all at once. He moves his arms, stretches through the murky darkness towards where the light reflects off the river’s surface but his body is screaming in agony. Through the muted ringing inside his head, he swears he hears the distant sound of gunfire and it awakens a sudden rush of adrenaline in him, panic seizing his diaphragm. Only one thought echoes loud in his mind, above all the chaos:

 

_Nines!_

 

He kicks, fighting through the pain, and breaks the surface with a loud gasp. The water’s fucking frigid but it feels even worse with the cold night air nipping at his wet face. He can’t even hear his teeth chattering, just knows that they are, the ring from the gunshot a throbbing pitch in his head. He glances blearily in the darkness for some way to climb up the pier, shivers and kicks towards what may be an old, gnarled ladder. Each stroke with his arms is pure torture but the longer he stays in the ice cold water, the worse it’s gonna get.

 

Something heavy splashes nearby, only just missing him. He gives a cry of surprise as he stares into the unseeing eyes of Nadya, blood trickling from a clean shot in the center of her forehead. It’s hard to feel any remorse as he pushes the body away from him and stretches out to grasp at the nearest rung of the ladder. Once his fingers are wrapped around it, he pulls himself forward with a grunt of pain.

 

The ringing is beginning to subside and he can make out the sounds of shouting among the gunfire above. He’s not sure whose voices he’s hearing—is so out of it he can’t even be sure if it’s Russian or English—all he knows is he _needs_ to get up there before it’s too late.

 

_C’mon, asshole! Fucking move already, you piece of shit!_

 

Thank god he never made a career for himself as a motivational speaker.

 

So he climbs. He climbs even as his body burns and aches, pulling his muscular frame up each foothold on the rickety ladder, each time telling himself, _just one more._ His soaked clothes stick to his skin heavily and it makes his ascent all the more difficult and he almost slips off more than once.

 

Finally his hand presses flat to the surface of the pier and with a groan, he pulls himself up one final time, collapsing and breathing heavily. But the part of his chest that soaked some of the impact from the bullet hits the pier and he gives a small whine. He rolls onto his back and takes a moment to catch his breath.

 

Shouting. There’s so much of it. A voice that hitches in an uneven cadence, broken and enraged all at once. It keeps Gavin from succumbing to his exhaustion, has him wearily rolling to his side, blinking and staring towards the figure crouched beneath the floodlight.

 

Red burns at the temple of the man yelling, flashing in a succession of violent spurts. The twisted, mutilated side of his face, with all its hideous scars, falls right in Gavin’s line of sight, and the detective’s heart gives a thunderous lurch at the pain he hears in Nines’ voice. But Nines is only a victim by whatever distress torments his mind, his gloved hands wrapped around the throat of Zlatko Andronikov, squeezing and squeezing as the Russian mobster’s face turns increasingly blue. It’s a mixture of Russian and English, as if the wild rage that’s taken over Nines can no longer distinguish between the two languages, has him shouting and mixing words.

 

A movement from the corner of his eye. Gavin flits his gaze and sees one of the severely injured Russians pick himself up, snarl on his face, as he slowly raises his gun and aims it at Nines.

 

_No!_

 

Gavin twists his body, reaches for where he remembers seeing his gun. There’s no time to think; he fires it as soon as the Russian falls in his line of vision.

 

One shot, two shot.

 

The Russian crumples to the ground.

 

With a wheeze, Gavin collapses as well. He shudders and shivers violently, the below zero temperatures making his drenched clothing stick stiffly to his skin. All he wants to do is curl up and preserve what little warmth he can, a heavy weariness falling over him like a thick blanket.

 

_Nines_ , he reminds himself. _Got to get to Nines…_

 

He lifts himself until he’s hunched, inhales, and forces his body upright. Everything’s spinning, but he moves slowly towards the gangster, each footfall taking great effort. The raw burning from the point of impact has him clutching at his chest.

 

“N-Nines,” he grunts, hoarsely, his dry voice unable to carry above whatever abuse Nines is shouting at Zlatko’s corpse. There’s blood...blood everywhere...splattered across Nines’ scars and neck, stark on the crisp collar of his shirt. Blood soaking onto the pier…

 

With a cry of rage, there’s a sickening _snap!_ And then the gangster’s rising to his full height, breaths coming in quickened gasps, a bloodied knife dripping in one hand and the other clutching the severed head of Zlatko Andronikov.

 

Zlatko’s empty eyes stare up at Gavin, forever frozen in a look of pure terror, and suddenly, the detective can’t be so sure it’s the chill from the air and his soaked clothes that’s making him tremble. A twisting, sickening sensation coils his insides and would have him vomiting if he wasn’t so drained, as he catches the gore dripping from the severed head.

 

“Nines,” Gavin tries again, swallowing the bile that’s rising in his throat.

 

Slowly, the gangster turns, setting his wild, furious gaze on Gavin. There’s something deranged in the way the left corner of his lip is curled, in the way he’s holding Zlatko’s decapitated head almost possessively by the hair. Whatever frenzy has taken him, it’s as if he’s not seeing what’s in front of him, only sees whatever violence his mind has construed.

 

“H-hey,” the detective starts, his voice shaking. He tries to lift one arm away from where it’s hugging himself, only to grimace in pain.

 

Nines’ eyes widen minutely, a tension coming to his posture, as if he doesn’t quite trust what he is seeing.

 

“N-Nines, i-it’s me,” Gavin says, his teeth chattering. His head feels really fuzzy. “Y-you n-need to d-drop th-that.”

 

It takes a moment, the gangster staring suspiciously at the detective. Then, with a tremble, he utters the detective’s name.

 

“Gavin.”

 

It comes out more like a question. Whatever strange haze has come over the gangster leaves his eyes, a clarity that has both the head and the knife clattering to the pier.

 

With a grunt, Gavin tugs at the collar of his sweater, revealing the kevlar vest he wears beneath. “G-guess I-I’m n-not as d-dumb as y-you th-thought.”

 

And suddenly, he’s being pulled into the gangster’s tight embrace, familiar arms protecting him against the horror surrounding them on the pier. But Gavin doesn’t give a shit about any of that, is clutching Nines just as tightly, swears he hears a sob muffled against his neck as the gangster trembles against him.

 

 

 

“H-hey. I-it’s okay,” Gavin rasps out, his cold fingers pressing against the warm wool of Nines’ coat. The edge of his vision is getting darker. Dizzily, he finds he’s swaying them both, is only kept upright because of Nines. “I-it’s okay, b-babe. I-I got y-you.”

 

“Gavin...”

 

And the last thing Gavin sees is the erratic blinking of a red light before he succumbs to the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gorgeous art created for this chapter was by the wonderful [Perplexed_Hex](https://www.instagram.com/perplexed_hex/). Please send your love their way <3
> 
> As part of the research I did for this chapter, I found out what happens when you shoot a Kevlar vest at [point blank range](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/ezpvb4/this-is-what-happens-when-you-shoot-a-kevlar-vest-at-point-blank-range). From the multiple sources I looked up, the general consensus was that if the vest successfully stops the bullet, you probably won't be surviving because of the impact force and the resulting internal bleeding. For the sake of 'hey it's 2040 and I'm gonna pretend America has stronger vests by then because I don't want Gavin Reed to die half-way into the fic' let's pretend technology has advanced that much and Gavin's just really, really, really injured. Okay? Good.
> 
> ...and this is the part where ya'll murder me for hurting your boy once again T.T


	7. Somethin' That Shouldn't Be Said Out Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the imminent threat of hypothermia, Gavin is forced to accept Nines' help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! The first thing I am really excited to announce is that if you loved the tender moment between Nines and Gavin in Chapter 6, you're gonna love [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz_IZLFnjQL/). Drawn by [Perplexed_Hex](https://www.instagram.com/perplexed_hex/), this gorgeous piece of work completely captures what I was trying to evoke with my writing. Thank you so much <3! Other artwork for this series includes these pieces by [Same-Side](https://same-side.tumblr.com/post/183912129314/he-said-i-could-have-it-bad-decisions-by) and [MellonDrops](https://mellondrops.tumblr.com/post/183221153729/the-hopeless-romantic-nines-fanart-for-the). Words fail to describe how floored I am by all this. Seriously, all of you are so amazing T.T
> 
> I now want to extend my thanks to [LusciousWhiteFlame](https://twitter.com/Snppd_C) for sharing a link to the Bad Decisions series on their Twitter feed. You are one of the few people I follow on Twitter and I was so shocked to read your tweets and the kind things you said about my story. I am pretty sure it reduced me to tears (good tears!) more than once. I also want to thank other amazing readers who have followed and encouraged my writing: [BrightStarInTheSky](https://brighteststarinthesky.tumblr.com/), [FriedChicken96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friedchicken96/pseuds/Friedchicken96), [NeedforSeed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeedforSeed/pseuds/NeedforSeed), [Cobblethotticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobblethotticus/pseuds/Cobblethotticus), and [byami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/byami/pseuds/byami). I can never say enough about how much your support means because I would have honestly given up a long time ago. So thank you, and everyone whose stuck around <3
> 
> Just as a warning, there are elements of infidelity in this chapter. I really play with the idea of Gavin and Rupert being in that murky space where they haven't quite decided where they are taking their relationship. For some readers, they might consider Gavin's actions to be consistent with cheating while others (admittedly, even myself) might see Gavin as being unfair to Rupert (when is he not???) but not actually cheating. I suppose this is very spoiler-y but I'd much rather play it safe and let you know what you're in for instead of having it come out of left field. Some of you, however, did correctly guess in your comments where Chapter 7 was heading. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

His head is heavy as he comes to, a drowsy cloud of confusion making him blink blearily at all the lights that flash by. His eyes water, unable to focus on any one sight. Everything’s moving too quickly; _he’s_ moving. Why would he be moving?

 

He lurches to the side of the seat he’s strapped into, his cold cheek pressing against hot leather. Heat radiates from the surface, his skin stinging at the sensation and he gives a small, pathetic whine. He’s shivering violently, and everything _hurts_ and he wishes it would all stop, that someone would make it _stop._

 

“Hang on, Gavin! We’re almost there!”

 

There’s something about the unguarded panic and desperation in that voice that catches Gavin off guard. He tries to focus on the man sitting beside him, chases the heaviness that’s been keeping his eyes from staying open. The name _Connor_ sits on his tongue because only Connor would let himself sound that vulnerable but then he sees that angry, red light at the driver’s temple. Images flash in his mind, of someone tearing off the bottom part of the gangster’s face.

 

“N-Nines?” he chatters weakly.

 

The cracked, white plating covering the bottom half of the gangster’s face pulls his lips into a frown. Gavin would grimace at how terrifying it makes Nines look—like some mad scientist’s pet cyborg project—but he’s too god damn weak to turn his head away.

 

They swerve as Nines turns sharply, the vehicle catching on a sheet of ice. But Nines maneuvers them with ease, the vehicle coming to a stop moments later. Gavin’s rough, hoarse voice is about to utter a question but then Nines is getting out of the car and why is he fucking leaving Gavin here?!

 

The passenger door opens and Gavin makes a relieved sound as he sees Nines familiar face. The left side of it. The side that’s covered in dried blood and not terrifying as shit.

 

“F-fucking r-r-robots,” he mumbles deliriously as Nines leans over him. Something unbuckles and Gavin winces as the pressure over his chest is removed. Two arms encircle him, attempt to gently take him from his seat and he cries out in pain.

 

“Gavin,” a soft voice whispers soothingly, “please, let me help you.”

 

He’s not quite sure _what_ he should be doing so he wraps his arms around Nines neck and doesn’t say anything, even as pain seems to center on his chest, as he’s lifted from the car. He shivers into the collar of Nines’ shirt, which smells strongly of musky cologne and copper. It makes the familiar scent more pungent than he remembers it being.

 

“Can you walk?” Nines grunts as Gavin feels them move.

 

“C-course I c-c-can f-f-fucking w-w-walk. I-I’m n-not a f-f-fucking b-baby.”

 

“That is not what I meant,” Nines says, tersely.

 

The detective mutters something incoherently, feeling his consciousness beginning to slip. But it seems like he’s barely shut his eyes before his tired, aching body is being propped against a wall, a curious hand slipping beneath the wool coat he’s wearing—when the fuck did he get a wool coat???--and sliding into the left back pocket of his wet jeans.

 

“Y-Y-You t-t-trying t-to g-g-get in m-my p-p-pants?” Gavin accuses, not sure if he’s really in the mood. On the one hand, Nines is hot as shit, but he feels he’s forgetting something really fucking important…

 

The hand not helping keep Gavin upright retreats, dangling a set of house keys in front of the detective. Oh.

 

Nines is panting heavily from exertion, goes to unlock the door. What Gavin doesn’t get is how in the fuck that asshole is sweating in his dress shirt when it’s fucking freezing in the hallway. It’s god damn winter, why in the fuck is he not wearing a coat?

 

But when Gavin glances down in confusion, sees the long sleeve of a black, wool coat covering his hand, he finally gets it.

 

“Let’s get you inside.”

 

Gavin offers no protest, has no choice but to throw most of his weight against Nines, as the gangster brings them into the apartment. A soft mewling greets them and Gavin feels Nines tense.

 

“You adopted a _cat_.”

 

Gavin blinks down tiredly as Socks mewls and stands upright, leaning against the detective’s leg with his front paws. The white fur really does make them look like socks. “H-hey y-y-you l-l-l’il sh-sh-shit.”

 

“You really had to get a cat? You know I dislike _cats._ ”

 

The repulsion in his voice has Gavin frowning. “S-S-Socks, g-g-get h-him.”

 

Socks rolls onto his back, purring and pawing at Nines’ shoe.

 

The gangster makes a sound of disgust. “We do not have time for this.”

 

Though Gavin chatters a complaint, he’s being dragged further into the apartment. He’d much rather be on the floor and cuddling his cat.

 

Setting Gavin down on the toilet, Nines shuts the door of the small bathroom and immediately goes to the shower. “Of course, you would have a bathroom that does not come with a bathtub. I was under the impression that most older buildings had them.”

 

“N-N-Never b-b-bothered y-you b-before.”

 

“Because I had no need for a bathtub and was perfectly content to use your shower.”

 

Gavin shivers and hugs the wool coat around him, his vision swimming once more. Nines is sliding open the glass door of the shower and within moments, the sound of running water could be heard. “F-f-fuck b-b-baths. N-N-never t-t-take ‘em a-a-anyway.”

 

“As much as I would enjoy indulging an easy attack on your personal hygiene, there is something serious I need you to understand.”

 

Nines loosens his tie, his long fingers swiftly moving to unbutton his blood-stained shirt. Though Gavin’s dizzy and freezing, his eyes follow the movement raptly and as a pale collarbone is exposed, his eyes catch on something that glints in the light.

 

A bullet. Worn on a thin chain around Nines’ neck.

 

And suddenly, _everything_ comes crashing back.

 

“W-w-what a-a-are y-y-ou d-d-doing?!” Gavin panics, nearly falling off the toilet.

 

Nines shucks off his shirt and Gavin can see the multitude of bruises on his chest from the scuffle tonight. His slim waist and muscular torso look as delicious as ever and it makes something stir in the detective, an almost involuntary reaction to how much he _wants_ when his brain is reminding him of _everything_ Nines has said and done to him. Gavin’s eyes blur and he has to force himself to look down at his lap to keep the tears from spilling.

 

“You have been exposed to below freezing temperatures and in the time since, you have failed to stop shivering. You are unable to coordinate your movements, your speech is slurred, and you seem to be suffering from some minor memory loss.” Though Gavin objects, he doesn’t have the strength to fight off the gangster as Nines tugs his coat off Gavin’s shoulders. “In other words, you are at serious risk of hypothermia.”

 

“H-H-how t-t-the f-f-fuck d-do y-y-ou kn-know th-that, D-D-Dr. O-o-oz?” he attempts to sneer.

 

It really does come out slurred. He didn’t know he was slurring his words.

 

“Let’s just say I have some experience with rivers and below freezing temperatures,” Nines answers, cryptically. He tries to remove Gavin’s shirt but Gavin swats his hands away weakly. “Gavin.”

 

The bullet hanging from Nines’ neck dangles in front of Gavin’s face.

 

How dare he. How fucking dare this asshole, after what he made Gavin think—

 

“I know you are _hurt_ , and not just physically,” Nines says, quietly. Gavin’s vision is so blurred, he can only see a vague swirling of pale skin in front of him as he struggles to keep from crying. “But you must let me help you. You cannot stand on your own and we need to bring up your body temperature. _Please._ ”

 

Nines _hates_ begging. And yet, he’s done it multiple times tonight, all for Gavin.

 

The detective nods, numbly.

 

Gavin’s shirt and vest are removed as quickly and carefully as Nines can manage. When the gangster finally sees the damage on the detective’s chest, his lips tug in a worried frown. His warm fingers press delicately at the outline of deep, dark bruising and it burns Gavin’s cold skin, makes him flinch with a choked cry.

 

“I believe you have also bruised a few ribs. We will need to be careful.”

 

A few tears slip down his cheek and Gavin feels even more humiliated and miserable. If things weren’t so fucked up between them, he imagines he wouldn’t feel this fucking terrible. But as Nines props him up, carefully helps Gavin out of his wet jeans as Gavin leans against him, all he can think is how he wishes he was with _anyone_ else in the world in that moment.

 

Both of them clad in only their boxer-briefs, Nines tries to direct them into the shower but Gavin pulls at his arm.

 

“T-T-Take i-i-it o-o-off,” he shivers.

 

Nines’ temple has been flaring red all evening and now, it blinks in a succession of flashes. Color fills the left side of his cheek. “I...do not believe I am required to remove my underwear for this, Gavin...”

 

“N-N-Not th-th-that! Th-th-this!”

 

He nearly topples both of them over as he jabs weakly at the cracked mask covering Nines’ right cheek. Once Nines rights them, the gangster frowns. “It can withstand water.”

 

“B-b-but i-i-it’s cr-cr-creepy a-as sh-shit,” Gavin complains.

 

He was hoping it would make him feel better insulting Nines’ appearance. Asshole went and got himself some Cyberlife head chip because the vain prick can’t own up to whatever shit made Kamski carve up his face.

 

But the saddened look that flits over the gangster’s face somehow makes Gavin feel worse.

 

Without further protest, Nines removes the metal plate and sets it on the bathroom counter, keeping the right side of his face turned away from Gavin. He wordlessly leads both of them into the shower.

 

The moment the warm water hits Gavin’s skin, he cries out in pain, falling against the gangster’s chest. It fucking hurts, like a thousand burning pins stabbing his skin all at once, and as he wobbles on his legs, he’s forced to stand beneath the shower head and endure the assault on his flesh. Nines keeps him in place, Gavin pressed between the shower behind him and the gangster’s firm chest. It’s too much heat, all at once, and he feels absolutely pitiful as more tears slip from his lashes.

 

“F-f-fuck,” he grunts out, having no choice but to grasp Nines tightly to keep from slipping on the tile.

 

A hand rubs soothingly at his back but it may as well be a hot iron as his skin sears from the contact. “You are in pain. That’s a good sign.”

 

“S-S-Says t-the a-a-assh-h-hole t-t-torturing m-m-me.”

 

They remain quiet for some time, Gavin resting his chin on Nines’ shoulder as he clings to the gangster. As the shivering gradually begins to subside, the water no longer bites at his reddened flesh but begins to feel pleasant. Without the distraction of his body working overtime to keep his internal temperature from dropping further, the fog in his mind starts to clear and he begins thinking of the events that led to this point. Gavin’s always been impulsive and it’s gotten him in so much shit, from scars on his face to fucking the person he was supposed to be putting behind bars.

 

But running blindly into a god damn trap when he had no proof Nines had been captured?

 

Yeah. That was pretty stupid.

 

“You should not have come for me tonight,” Nines says, quietly.

 

Gavin barely hears him above the patter of the shower. It startles him that the gangster is thinking the same thing he was.

 

“That head chip m-make you a m-mind reader, t-too?” he says, hoarsely.

 

His speech is still slurred and he hopes to god he doesn’t have a concussion, too. He doesn’t remember getting hit on the head…

 

“The neural implant merely coordinates facial movement with the mask I wear. It takes some practice but I have recently managed to sync the device fully with my motor cortex,” Nines answers, as if ‘motor cortex’ makes any fucking sense to Gavin.

 

“C-congrats. You’re a f-f-fucking android,” Gavin says, sarcastically.

 

“...I think you have a fundamental misunderstanding of what an android is...”

 

“Y-yeah? Well I a-apparently have a ‘f-fundamental misunderstanding’ of a lot of sh-shit! Just what the f-f-fuck w-was that t-t-tonight?!”

 

And now that he’s not shivering his ass off and teetering between states of consciousness, Gavin’s fucking angry. At every opportunity these past few weeks, Nines had made him feel like nothing between them ever mattered, as if Gavin was nothing more than shit caught on the underside of his designer shoe, but tonight seemed to prove that is the opposite. And now, Gavin doesn’t know what in the fuck he’s supposed to do with this information.

 

Nines’ grip on Gavin does not falter but there’s a tension between them that Gavin’s only exacerbating by leaning stiffly into the gangster’s embrace, the arms wrapped around Nines holding him in a way that expresses how badly Gavin wishes he could push the asshole away. “I had not anticipated you would show up at that warehouse. When I had to eliminate the threat against you, I did all I could to keep you from getting involved. I thought if I pushed you away...”

 

And suddenly, all the pieces fall into place.

 

“So that’s why you said all that shit?!” Gavin demands, hating how his voice quivers. “Is that the fucking reason you made me think…?”

 

The crack in his voice has more tears spilling and Gavin can’t even finish the thought, is swallowing back a broken sound.

 

“Zlatko intended on using you against me,” Nines admits, holding Gavin tighter. As if after all the deceptive asshole did, after all he made Gavin feel, _this_ is the bullshit that’s supposed to make Gavin feel better. “I did not want to risk you, no matter what he did to me. I did not want you to have any reason to come after me. You mean far too much to me, Gavin.”

 

“Bull-fucking-shit!” Gavin snaps, trying to shove Nines off of him but being too exhausted to manage much more than a weak push. “Y-you fucking asshole! Y-you selfish f-fucking prick! If I meant so fucking ‘much’ to you, then y-you should have f-f-fucking told me!”

 

He glares up at Nines through the haze of his tears, sees the side not severely scarred dripping with water and blood, washing away the evidence of his violence. Only half his face can twist into an angry sneer, though there’s an unvoiced pain reflected in his sad, gray eyes. “If I had, you would have insisted on helping and most likely gotten yourself killed! What the hell did you expect from me?!”

 

“I expected some god damn fucking honesty!” Gavin roars, his shout echoing in the confines of shower.

 

The anger in Nines’ expression falters but Gavin’s nowhere near finished yet.

 

“Fuck sakes, I have never fucking lied to you, Nines! About fucking anything! And that’s all you’ve ever done! You lied about our relationship, you lied about Kamski—fuck, even telling me I mean fucking _nothing_ to you was a god damn lie and I am fucking sick of it!”

 

He collapses against Nines, his body shaking with a sob he’s struggling to hold back. He wishes he had the strength to storm out—or to shove Nines out of the shower and tell that asshole to get the fuck out of his apartment—but he knows that he fucking needs the deceptive prick, that there’s no way he can help himself while he’s like this.

 

Nines’ hands rub at his back and Gavin hates that small part of himself that indulges the affection he’s been craving, how much he’s missed the gangster in spite of everything. “You’re right. I am sorry, Gavin. I should have never made you believe you’re nothing to me when the truth is...you’re everything.”

 

_Everything._

 

Gavin had only wanted to be _something_ , as insignificant as that word could entail.

 

But this...

 

The quiet, heartfelt apology is too much for him, too honest and vulnerable in a way Nines hasn’t been in so long, Gavin almost believed him incapable of it.

 

So Gavin cries.

 

He cries like the weak, naive asshole he is. Everything comes pouring out—the sleepless nights, the days of looking worriedly over his shoulder, the crushing pain of believing he never mattered—as Gavin has no choice but to hold onto Nines, sobs wracking his bruised body. Whispered apologies are uttered against his skin but Gavin barely processes them, is too busy unloading all that trauma he’s kept buried, within the tiny walls of the shower.

 

“Y-you fucking a-asshole,” he repeats between sobs, the bullet Nines is wearing pressed over Gavin’s heart.

 

Nines should have just taken the gun and shot Gavin through the chest that first night. A quick death would have been a small mercy compared to the pain of loving the asshole.

 

Gavin startles at the revelation, as his sobs begin to wane.

 

He still loves him.

 

_He doesn’t fucking deserve me,_ Gavin thinks angrily, wishing the fucking tears would stop sliding down his cheeks already.

 

He tells himself that in a silent mantra, as Nines holds him, his warm hands rubbing soothing circles on the detective’s back.

 

_He doesn’t fucking deserve me._

 

But no matter how many times he says it in his head, he knows he’ll never believe it. Gavin’s self-loathing is rooted deeper in his flesh than his physical scars and he’s always believed, deep down, that he deserves the worst that’s been thrown at him. That he’s not a victim of toxic affection but a god damn magnet for it and his penance is to accept the abuse the world’s dished on him, to atone for something he can give no name to.

 

Let Nines do his worst. Because Gavin’s used to it.

 

Sniffling pitifully, Gavin buries his face in the crook of Nines’ neck. The warm water pelts his back, rivulets brushed away by the steady patterns Nines is tracing. His hands feel wonderful on Gavin’s warmed flesh and he fucking hates him for it, hates how it stirs a heat inside of him when he’s at the lowest he’s felt in years. His body wants Nines in a way it hasn’t wanted anyone else and the longer he stays pressed to the gangster’s flesh, the more apparent that becomes.

 

“We should get you to bed,” Nines says, reaching behind Gavin to shut the water off. He doesn’t meet his eyes, keeps as much physical space between them even as he helps Gavin out of the shower. In many ways, it feels like a silent rejection that only makes the ache inside the detective sting with renewed vigor.

 

As Gavin shivers once more from the cool air of the apartment, Nines takes the nearby towel and wraps it around the detective. Then, without a word, he helps Gavin into the bedroom.

 

Sitting Gavin on the edge of the bed, Nines then goes to the dresser and begins rifling through it. It takes him mere seconds to find what he’s seeking, like muscle memory, and how many times has Gavin seen him do this before, back when they were together? It hurts to think how everything is so different between them now when all of this feels like the typical weekend nights they would spend in Gavin’s apartment.

 

Nines returns with a fresh pair of underwear and old flannel pants. Gavin’s most comfortable and favorite pair. Of course he fucking remembers.

 

He sets them down beside Gavin on the bed. “Would you mind if I…?”

 

He looks miserable in a way that almost takes the detective by surprise, when Gavin finally gets a good look at the gangster. He’s no longer trying to hide the right side of his face, the raised flesh forever frozen in an eerie sullen expression, right corner of his lips unable to mimic its left counterpart. The extent of the nerve damage is severe in a way Gavin hadn’t considered when he was sneering at the prosthetic Nines wears.

 

Gavin drops his eyes guiltily to what Nines is holding. An old pair of faded black sweat pants, too long in the legs for Gavin. Nines used to wear them sometimes when he stayed over and Gavin had always gotten a hot thrill seeing the gangster in something that’s his, would rake his eyes hungrily over the gangster until eventually his hands followed suit and those pants would end up tossed on the apartment floor somewhere. It’s almost manipulative that Nines would tease him with this but, in truth, it really is the only thing Gavin owns that almost fits the gangster.

 

“Knock yourself out,” he mumbles.

 

Nines fingers go to the waistband of his wet underwear, Gavin’s eyes following the movement sharply. Then, thinking better of it, the gangster stops. “I should change in the other room.”

 

“Y-yeah. You should,” Gavin says, somewhat awkwardly.

 

“I will return with some cream to apply to your bruises,” Nines offers. “Is there anything else you would like while I’m out there?”

 

Gavin falls silent, trying to wrack his brain. He knows he’s missing something but for the life of him, he can’t…

 

_FUCK!_

 

“Uh, could you get my phone?” Rupert. Fucking Rupert. How in the fuck did he forget he’s supposed to be there tonight?! “And...my cat.”

 

Nines makes a face. With...well, half his face. “Your cat? Gavin, really...”

 

Gavin’s response is a lot more snippy than he intends. “Yes, my fucking cat. Bitch all you want, at least Socks is fucking dependable.”

 

Nines shuts up really fast. “Is that all?”

 

He thinks of warm hands brushing against his skin, eliciting a kind of excitement in him that not even Rupert, in all his kindness, has ever inspired in him. And then Gavin thinks of the crushing humiliation Nines has made him feel each time another of his lies gets unveiled.

 

Voice thick, Gavin adds, “When you’re done ‘helping’ me, I want you to fucking leave. For good.”

 

The finality of those words hang in the room with the heaviness of everything Gavin’s suffered at Nines’ deception. He’s almost too afraid to breathe as he waits for Nines’ response, part of him not wanting to hear it. He’s not sure if he’d rather choke on the lies he’s been fed or hear Nines accept the end of their toxic cycle.

 

“Yes, Gavin.”

 

And Nines leaves the room in quiet defeat.

 

Gavin’s almost ready to break down once more, is inhaling shakily as his trembling fingers slide the wet underwear down his legs. He kicks it to the floor, air nipping at his damp skin. Getting the clean pair on is a bit of a challenge as the moment he attempts to bend forward, pain surges from the bruises concentrated in the center of his chest. It takes some shimmying and twisting but he eventually gets both the underwear and pants on, scooting backwards carefully until he’s resting against the headboard, blanket wrapped tightly around him. He’s hoping he stops shivering soon because if he’s still at risk for hypothermia, then…

 

_Gotta message Rupert._

 

He told him he was called into a crime scene—fuck, now he’s become one of those lying dirtbags he’s accused Nines of being—so the grad student knew there was a slim chance he’d be seeing Gavin tonight. But guilt eats away at Gavin because he knows he’d lose his fucking shit if Rupert had spent the last thirty minutes in the shower with his ex and though he’s trying to do the right fucking thing here, that deceptive voice in his head keeps whispering how much he enjoyed it.

 

But it doesn’t matter. Because Nines will be leaving soon and no longer will that asshole ruin Gavin’s life.

 

A soft _meow_ breaks Gavin’s train of thought and he can’t help but smile as the cat bounds across the bed. Socks, talkative little furbag that he is, mewls and purrs as he rubs against Gavin’s palm. “H-hey you li’l shit.”

 

His phone lands near him on the bed. “I found this in your jeans. I believe the water damage is minimal.”

 

“J-just fucking g-great,” Gavin complains.

 

“You’re still shivering.”

 

“A-Am not…!”

 

His voice trails as he stares up at Nines, who’s holding a bottle of aloe vera, a tiny frown on his lips. Clad in only Gavin’s pants, which hang far too deliciously low on his narrow hips, the detective feels his treacherous heart skip as his eyes trail up the expanse of pale flesh, the gangster’s abs chiseled to perfection. All those freckles that he’s kissed and licked are as inviting as ever and if Gavin were that much weaker, he’d be succumbing right now.

 

“You are. I have raised the thermostat. Perhaps I should find socks and a shirt for you.

 

With a glare, Gavin snatches his phone. “D-do whatever you f-fucking want.”

 

Shit. There are some annoying watermarks on the screen. But it could be worse.

 

He begins typing a message to Rupert, letting him know he just got in and won’t be able to make it over tonight. He half expects the grad student to be asleep already anyway.

 

A hand pulls aside the blanket and Gavin slaps it away. “T-the f-fuck you doing? It’s g-g-god damn cold in h-here!”

 

“Taking a look at your bruises.”

 

“I-I can do i-it later.”

 

“The sooner you cooperate, the sooner I leave.”

 

Frowning petulantly, Gavin lets Nines pull open the blanket. For a long moment, the gangster quietly scrutinizes the pattern of marks on the detective’s chest before indicating to the aloe vera he’s holding. “Would you like me to do it or can you do it yourself?”

 

Gavin plucks the bottle out of Nines’ fingers. “G-gimme that.”

 

Just the brushing of their fingers ignites something within him and Gavin does not trust having those hands anywhere near his flesh again.

 

He opens the bottle and squirts a large line across his sternum.

 

“Gavin...it’s not lubricant. More does not necessarily mean _better._ ”

 

“B-bite m-me.”

 

He shivers and rubs the cool liquid across his chest, swallowing a cry of pain when he pushes too hard at one of his bruised ribs. Fuck...he did put too much.

 

With an annoyed sigh, Nines retrieves Gavin’s discarded towel and dabs at the remainder. This time, Gavin doesn’t offer any resistance.

 

“W-was supposed to be w-with R-Rupert tonight,” Gavin says, petting Socks, who is now curled up on the other side of him.

 

Nines tenses.

 

Fucking _good._

 

“I am sorry I ruined your evening.”

 

Of all the things Nines could possibly be sorry for, _that_ is most likely lowest on the list, if it makes it onto the fucking list at all.

 

“Y-yeah, I’m sure,” Gavin says, sarcastically. He forces his voice to remain steady, tries to stop his teeth from chattering, as he adds, “we’ve fucked a few times.”

 

The callousness of the statement has red beeping wildly at Nines’ temple, the gangster flinging the towel to the floor. Though he snaps his mouth shut, takes that extra second to collect his composure, there’s no denying the fury in his eyes. “Is telling me this really necessary?”

 

“J-just thought y-you should kn-know I’ve m-moved on,” Gavin snaps back.

 

Socks swats at Gavin’s hand, his tail flicking. It’s like he’s looking up at the detective with those big, green eyes accusingly declaring, _Yeah fucking right._

 

Fucking traitor.

 

“Then why were you not with him tonight?”

 

The quiet accusation clings to the air between them and as Gavin flits his gaze back to the gangster, he feels his anger falter. Each word burrows deep in his brain, a resounding echo that fills his head with that very question he has avoided answering.

 

_Why **weren’t** you with him tonight?_

 

Gavin knows. Even if he’s not willing to admit it out loud.

 

“You wanted more honesty, detective,” Nines says, coolly, “then perhaps you can start by telling me _why,_ after everything I did, you were at the pier tonight.”

 

He’s not gonna be baited like this. He’s not…

 

“Because I’m n-n-not a h-heartless prick!” Gavin answers, with a sneer. “C-couldn’t let y-you die. I’m a f-f-fucking cop. What do you e-expect?!”

 

“And yet, you were very willing to trade your so called principles as a cop when you believed my life was on the line,” Nines adds.

 

Gavin’s eyes sting and he can’t believe he’s being reduced to a whimpering mess again over how fucking pathetic and obvious he is. He’s blinks them back, curls himself further into the blanket to stave off the chills, directing a vicious glare at the gangster. “Y-your f-fucking point?”

 

“If we must keep having this fight, I would rather we be honest about our motivations.” _That’s a fucking first,_ Gavin can’t help thinking bitterly. “Zlatko manipulated both of us because he knew how far we would go to protect one another. It almost got you killed.”

 

And Gavin’s recalling the single word that had shattered every lie Nines has constructed these last few weeks, the offer he had been willing to make in exchange for Gavin’s miserable, fucking life.

 

“...you were really gonna give up Kamski?”

 

Those eyes that had raged with his ire not moments before now expose the truth before it’s uttered. “I would give up everything to keep you safe, Gavin. I...I love you too much not to.”

 

Gavin has to look away. He can’t stand to see the misery etched into Nines’ face, the way his voice trembles as he lays himself at the detective’s mercy. He doesn’t say it with confidence but with trepidation, knowing that his actions make him undeserving of the word.

 

Gavin’s never needed to hear it, perhaps has always known intuitively, even at Nines’ most deceptive, that it has to be true. But when it’s out there, he can no longer escape the gravity of what it means for them, how it fundamentally changes everything.

 

So he panics. Because...of course he fucking does.

 

“I-I’m not f-fucking forgiving you!”

 

“I do not expect you to,” Nines answers.

 

“And we’re not f-f-fucking getting back t-t-together!”

 

“...understood.”

 

“If this is m-more of your m-m-manipulative bullshit, y-you can g-go fuck yourself!”

 

“It’s not.”

 

“F-f-fuck you!”

 

He lays down on his side, turned away from Nines, as he hugs himself and shivers beneath the blanket. His cheeks are flaring, his heart is hammering, and he’s torn somewhere between wanting to weep and slap that asshole for laying all this on him way too fucking late.

 

It is too fucking late. He’s with Rupert.

 

Rupert isn’t a judgmental, obnoxious asshole. He treats Gavin well. He—

 

Gavin yelps as he feels the blanket move, the cool air nipping at his exposed back replaced with hot flesh as Nines sidles up behind him. There’s a fluttering in the detective’s chest and while his mouth is already open in protest, the words are stuck in his throat.

 

“You’re still freezing,” a soft voice whispers near his ear, arm hesitantly curling around Gavin’s abdomen. Seeking permission.

 

This is a bad idea. This is a terrible fucking idea.

 

Gavin ignores his good sense and presses back against Nines’ chest, the blanket thrown over them shielding them from the glow of the lamp. He hears Socks scurry off the bed and it makes him feel even more at the gangster’s mercy, whose hot, muscular chest feels so fucking wonderful against Gavin’s back. Nines’ other arm slides beneath Gavin’s neck, curling to press against the detective’s pectorals and tugging him even closer. The burning furnace that is Nines’ skin helps Gavin’s shivering subside.

 

“I will leave as soon as you are warm,” Nines promises, his breath hot against Gavin’s cheek.

 

Gavin can’t say anything, afraid he’ll whimper in a way that exposes the effect Nines’ presence is having on him. So, he nods.

 

Nines falls silent as he holds the detective. There’s something even more deceptively intimate about Gavin stealing his warmth here than when he had been in the shower. If he ignores the erratic thumping of his own heart, he can feel Nines’ own heartbeat against his back, equally as chaotic.

 

There’s a warm glow coming from the gangster’s temple. It’s no longer red but a gentle, calming blue. Gavin didn’t even know it could change color.

 

“...can you turn that thing off?” he asks.

 

The question takes the gangster by surprise. “I...have not tried. I do not see it very often, as I am usually wearing the mask.”

 

Gavin’s guessing the skin-changing thing the mask does must be what usually hides it.

 

He falls silent again. There’s a question burning at his brain, though he’s not sure he’s gonna like the answer.

 

“Why’d Kamski put that thing in your head?”

 

Nines stiffens. “He would not allow me to seek corrective surgery, though with the intensity of the nerve damage, there would be no way to reverse it even if I had. Chloe has been experimenting with a new technology as part of Cyberlife’s health division, so I was offered the neural implant option a month ago.”

 

A chill creeps down Gavin’s spine. He knows it can’t be that cut and dry: Kamski never does anything out of the goodness of his fucking heart.

 

“So you let him turn you into some fucking lab experiment? Fucking Christ, Nines!”

 

“For months, potential clients looked at me with fear and disgust...and that was before I could even utter a threat,” Nines says, coolly, an angry blinking filing the space beneath the blanket red. “You do not understand what that is like.”

 

“Yeah because you’re the only asshole who’s ever had anyone say shit about your face,” Gavin answers, sarcastically. “The fuck you think juvie was like for me? Everyone had a god damn opinion after my face was sliced up and trust me, none of those fuckers were telling me how god damn pretty I am.”

 

Nines is quiet for a moment, the red swirling until it becomes a soft yellow. “...I did not realize.”

 

Shifting in his arms, Gavin turns so he can face Nines. His legs slide against the gangster’s, though Nines keeps his hips shifted away even as Gavin remains close enough to steal as much of his body heat as he can. With Nines laying on his left side, the glow from his chip falls across the right side of his face.

 

“You’re more than your scars, Nines.”

 

As Gavin lifts his hand, attempts to trace the marred flesh, Nines’ eyes widen with panic and he begins to shift his head away. “I do not like having my face touched.”

 

“Nines...” Gavin says, quietly. “You really think I give a shit about a couple of scars?”

 

Nines doesn’t need to voice his consent but leans into the palm ghosting near his cheek. There’s a fearful look in his eyes, as if he half expects Gavin to sneer in disgust and push him away. But all Gavin does is trace the crude lines that had been carved into Nines’ skin, silent as he studies the damaged skin. Part of him is saddened that some of his favorite freckles—which are also noticeably missing on the synthetic skin layer of Nines’ mask—have disappeared permanently.

 

“Not god damn fair,” Gavin complains, with a crooked smirk, “you’re still way hotter than me.”

 

“...I am fairly certain you are the only one who thinks that...”

 

Nines tries to look annoyed but there’s a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of the left side of his mouth. Gavin takes it as a win.

 

His lashes flutter, gray eyes failing to be discreet as they demurely flicker to the detective. Gavin can’t quite be sure but he thinks there may be a hint of color in Nines’ cheeks. “I do not imagine you are without your share of admirers.”

 

Gavin chuckles in embarrassment, the movement hurting his chest. He has little doubt that the hands that so ‘innocently’ trace his back are admiring the new lines of definition. “I, uh, got bored. Picked up a new hobby.”

 

“I can tell.”

 

His cheeks flame at the appreciative once over he’s receiving, pulse racing with the knowledge that Nines _likes_ what he’s seeing. He tries reminding himself of Rupert, of all the horrible shit he’s been subjected to because Nines can never be fucking honest with him, but the part of him that’s still so desperate for Nines’ approval is floating high with the gangster’s attention.

 

“...thought I was ‘mediocre’,” Gavin mumbles, with a hint of bitterness.

 

“You will never be ‘mediocre’ to me, Gavin,” Nines whispers, the warm blue at his temple making Gavin’s mistrust slowly dissipate. Trusting anything from the gangster’s lips should be high on Gavin’s ‘shit I shouldn’t do’ list but there’s something soothing about the odd device glowing on Nines’ face: like his own god damn personal mood ring. “You are incredibly handsome, whether you wish to believe it or not. It is one of the many things I should have said more often when we were together.”

 

Gavin’s throat becomes tight, his hand sliding to the back of Nines’ neck. “Y-You’re a god damn liar, Stern.”

 

He’s shaking, and no longer from his shivering. He’s right where he didn’t want to be, wrapped around the gangster’s finger, seeking any excuse to indulge his worst impulses. There’s something so intoxicating about the way Nines looks at him, as if he’s cradling the entire world in his arms. It’s not just admiration; it’s obsession. And fuck, does Gavin want to be _loved_ like that, even if that sort of love comes with a high price.

 

“Perhaps I should not simply tell you but _show_ you how honest I am.”

 

Nines is somehow simultaneously forceful yet careful as he pushes Gavin onto his back, sliding between the thighs that spread easily beneath him. A sound rumbles at the back of Gavin’s throat as he feels the rock hard erection pressing into the inside of his leg and fuck has he missed the heaviness of Nines’ cock, craves to feel it inside him. No matter how much his brain tells him all of this is a bad idea, he’s very quickly losing the resolve to do anything to stop this.

 

Nines hovers over him on his strong arms, avoids pressing against Gavin’s chest. As he leans down, his breath falls hot against the detective’s lips, mouth only a whisper away. How easy it would be for Gavin to close the distance…

 

“I will always want you, Gavin,” Nines whispers hotly, those lips tauntingly close, “and unless you tell me to stop, I may have to rescind my earlier promise to leave and reclaim you.”

 

And that’s all that prevents him from taking that next step: permission. For all he’s done, Nines has never pushed Gavin too far, never done anything without knowing it’s what Gavin chooses. He tempts the worst of Gavin’s behavior and gives Gavin the final say so the detective knows that it’s _his_ choice. On some deeper level, it’s also part of Nines’ own insecurities: to want to hear that he’s desired instead of always being someone’s alternative. With Gavin, he knows he no longer is living in Connor’s shadow.

 

Gavin’s phone buzzes, startling both of them. Two pairs of eyes flicker to the glowing, damaged screen that brightly notifies them of an incoming text.

 

“...you should respond to that,” Nines says, somewhat coolly.

 

The name _RUPERT_ reflects on the screen.

 

“I, uh, should, shouldn’t I?”

 

Guiltily, he looks between Nines and the phone resting near his elbow.

 

After a moment, Nines says, “If you are expecting me to be your moral compass, you have come to the wrong place. I have little interest in upholding whatever boundaries you and _Robert_ have established.”

 

“Rupert,” Gavin corrects, though he suspects the mistake was intentional.

 

Nines doesn’t even acknowledge the correction. “However, let’s be clear of one thing: should this continue, I will not share you with _anyone_. You will be _mine_ and mine alone.”

 

A pleasing trill has Gavin quivering beneath the gangster, the possessive way in which he says the word _mine_ filling Gavin with this primal need to be claimed. It’s what he’s missed most in his foray into drunken one-night stands and awkward dates these last few months: someone confidently bringing him to that point of submission, making him feel as if he’s theirs. He can get self-reflective, perhaps tie his history of being tossed from one foster care home to another, to this need to belong to _someone._ But whatever it is,he knows there’s only one person who’s ever made him feel as if he does.

 

He takes his phone and he sees Nines frown, begin to pull back. Gavin shuts the phone off without even bothering to look at the notification.

 

Discarding the phone beneath his pillow, he tugs Nines back into his arms with a low growl. “I should kick your ass after what you did.”

 

A simple roll of his hips, a gentle gasp spilling from Nines’ mouth, reduces Gavin to a whimper. “You may have bulked up, detective, but we both know you could never take me.”

 

There’s nothing he’d like more than to indulge the haughty challenge in the gangster’s voice, wishes he wasn’t exhausted from his sleepless nights and the injuries he sustained earlier. How he’d love to pin Nines beneath him, reclaim all that exposed, pale flesh with his lips, and remind the gangster he’s just as capable of ‘taking charge’ when the mood strikes him.

 

As Nines rocks against him, the delicious friction created between them enough to send Gavin into a state of delirium, it takes all the strength he has to press a hand to Nines’ chest, stopping the gangster as he tries to kiss him. “O-one last thing.”

 

The gangster stops grinding against him, stares down questioningly at the detective.

 

Swallowing hard, Gavin glances up at those lust-blown eyes, finds himself biting on his lower lip, as he struggles to bring himself to say the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. It’s so easy to forget everything and submit when Nines, even with all his scars and weird implant, is settled between his thighs, looking this fucking gorgeous and desperate for him. “Don’t ever lie to me again.”

 

There’s a firmness to his declaration, an implied promise that if Nines even thinks of breaking it, that’s it: Gavin’s fucking gone. No one’s done him as dirty as Nines has. He shouldn’t even be giving the asshole another chance.

 

But he’s walked out on him once. So Gavin knows he can do it again.

 

Yellow swirls at Nines’ temple.

 

“I won’t,” he promises, with a sincerity Gavin decides he trusts.

 

“I mean it, Nines. And I’m not talking about dumb shit like you pretending to like my cat.”

 

“...I will not pretend to like your cat, Gavin. It’s a _cat._ ”

 

“Fuck sakes, you can at least give him a chance, you fucking robot.”

 

“Again, I think you really need to look up the definition of these terms you keep assigning me.”

 

“I don’t mean it literally, you cat-hating prick.”

 

“You knew my feelings regarding pets prior to your decision to get one.”

 

“Will you stop changing the subject? I’m being fucking serious, Nines,” Gavin complains, with a not-pout because he doesn’t fucking pout.

 

“As am I,” Nines says, his teasing tone gone. Gently, his thumb caresses Gavin’s cheek, the palm of his hand cradling Gavin’s jaw, as he adds, softly, “I have...trust issues. I am not used to trusting anyone implicitly. Perhaps I have come to expect the worst of people and yet...you have never lied to me. Even when I haven’t deserved your trust, you give it freely.”

 

With a gentle fluttering of his lashes, he leans down and brushes his lips against the scar on Gavin’s nose, his touch feather light and careful. The intimacy of the gesture makes the detective’s heart thud. “I do not want to lose you again, Gavin. I _can’t._ So you have my word: I will never again lie to you.”

 

Gavin swallows heavily, can only bring himself to say, “You better not,” as he brushes aside the damp bangs that have fallen in front of Nines’ eyes. Far more than the heaviness of Nines’ arousal pressing into Gavin’s thigh, he’s missed just being here, with Nines, like...this. As swiftly as Nines can make Gavin feel as if he’s insignificant with a few choice words, he can also make Gavin feel as if he’s the only thing that matters.

 

“I love you, Gavin,” he whispers, softly and without hesitation.

 

Gavin’s heart is beating so fast, he doesn’t trust himself to not fuck up the moment by saying the wrong thing. So he doesn’t say anything, crashes his mouth against Nines’, allows the gesture to say the words he’s too overwhelmed to speak. The feel of Nines’ lips immediately sates a hunger he’s harbored for months and he groans into the kiss, surrenders to the tongue that slides confidently against his. He knows now his one night stands were never about being touch-starved for intimacy but that he had only been touch-starved for Nines, his body seeking fulfillment with men who had no possible way of satisfying him. It didn’t matter how talented their tongue or how their lips teased his flesh; he had only wanted Nines.

 

“B-babe,” he whimpers when Nines’ lips begin trailing along the rough stubble lining his jaw.

 

He keens as they traverse familiar paths, nipping and suckling until Nines is marking him, reclaiming flesh that Gavin’s allowed others to sample. It’s clear the thought weighs heavily in the gangster’s thoughts for he all but growls, “ _Mine,”_ before he’s pressing his lips hard to Gavin’s pulse point and greedily pulling the skin between his teeth. Gavin offers no resistance, grinds up against Nines with a low whine, sliding a hand down low across the gangster’s back.

 

His fingers slip beneath the worn band of the pants Nines is wearing, delighting in how firm the gangster’s ass feels. He grasps a handful of the creamy skin, eliciting a heated sound from the gangster, who responds by grinding down on the detective. Fuck...he’s almost forgotten how fucking perfect Nines’ ass is, how fucking amazing it’s felt the few times Nines allowed him to be buried balls deep in it.

 

“Take this off,” he demands huskily, tugging impatiently at the band of the pants.

 

Nines presses his lips to Gavin’s in a wet, sloppy kiss, and Gavin can feel the left corner of his mouth quirk as he teases the detective. “For someone as injured as yourself, you are being quite demanding.”

 

“Wanna play doctor and nurse me back to health?”

 

“Is that not what we’ve been doing?”

 

Gavin smirks triumphantly as Nines kicks off the pants, his taller, leaner frame now naked and hovering above him. His eyes sweep across the gangster and knowing that this is all _his_ , that the hard cock glistening in the dim glow on the lamp is full because of _him_ is a kind of high Gavin will never get tired of.

 

“It seems rather unfair that I am the only one in such a state of undress...”

 

When Nines tugs down Gavin’s pants and underwear, the detective lifts his hips to make it easier. However, even that small movement puts more pressure than he expects on his chest and he can’t help but wince in pain.

 

Nines’ appreciation is short lived as he frowns down at the detective. “Maybe we should continue this another time. You should be resting.”

 

“You seriously gonna get me this worked up and leave me hanging, babe?”

 

A firm grip on his cock has Gavin swallowing the rest of his complaints, a tiny moan echoing at the back of his throat. He loves the sight of those long, slim fingers wrapped confidently around his dick, Nines’ playful half-smirk making the handsome fucker look downright devious. Fucking tease.

 

“It would be rude of me to not finish what I started...”

 

And he begins to descend lower, his intent clear. Open-mouthed kisses pepper his abdomen, the tip of Nines’ nose digging into the fine, dark hairs trailing towards his groin. Nines gives amazing head and Gavin would have to be a fucking idiot to deny the gangster this. But there’s something he wants more than to feel his cock hitting the back of the gangster’s throat.

 

Nines’ tongue flicks over the tip of his erection and for a moment, Gavin’s lost in how amazing Nines’ mouth feels, the gangster licking a long stripe up the shaft before pulling the head between his lips. He suckles gently, giving a salacious wink when Gavin flicks his gaze downwards. Fuck, there are few things Gavin loves seeing more than Nines’ mouth on his dick.

 

The only thing that stops Nines from swallowing his erection completely is a gentle tug on his wrist.

 

“H-Hot as this is, it’d be even beter if we fucked,” Gavin says, hoarsely.

 

Nines’ mouth pops off his dick with a loud slurp, the string of saliva sticking to his chin making him look even more shameless. It’s a struggle to not just whine for Nines to keep going, suck him dry. But he knows whatever they end up doing, he won’t be lasting long. Not with how turned on he is.

 

Nines stares up at him, a look of concern in his eyes. “Gavin—”

 

“It’s been fucking _months_ , Nines,” Gavin interrupts. “You really gonna make me wait until my fucking ribs are healed?”

 

Indecision has the gangster slip into quiet contemplation. Gavin takes the hand no longer gripping his erection, weaves his fingers through the gangster’s and squeezes gently. He feels like a fucking idiot for how easily he let himself believe Nines didn’t give a shit when he has to practically beg the asshole to fuck him just because of some damaged bones.

 

“I want you, babe,” Gavin says, tugging Nines up. He trembles as Nines grinds their naked cocks together, a groan spilling off his lips, “so fucking much.”

 

“I would not have guessed,” Nines teases, his voice cracking with need.

 

He then throws a thigh over Gavin’s hip, straddles the detective, and positions himself so that Gavin’s cock slides between his ass cheeks. Bending over the detective, his lips linger a hairsbreadth away and he whispers, huskily, “I think I have a solution that will satisfy us both.”

 

“Y-yeah?”

 

“How would you like me to ride you?”

 

For a moment, Gavin forgets to breathe, staring up lustfully at the gangster with a half-lidded gaze. Nines shifts so that Gavin’s dripping cock is pressed right to his entrance and just feeling how his tight hole puckers tauntingly against his tip has the detective shuddering.

 

“Y-you really gotta ask?”

 

Nines kisses him softly, the taste of his lips making Gavin heady. “I would not want to disappoint you if you expected this to go another way.”

 

“You think wanting to ride my dick would disappoint me?”

 

A somber expression passes over the gangster’s face and his half-smile is bittersweet as he gazes into Gavin’s eyes. “I have disappointed you so much lately. Though this is not how we are usually intimate, it is one of the few ways in which I hope I can show you how much you mean to me, Gavin.”

 

Gavin tenses at that and his hesitation is immediately noticed by Nines, whose smile pulls into a small frown. “Babe...if you’re only offering because you think it’ll make up for the shit you said—”

 

“You misunderstand me, darling,” Nines whispers hastily, and the rest of Gavin’s words sit heavy in his throat upon hearing that affectionate term nobody has used with him in so long, “I want to because you are the only one who has ever felt good inside of me.”

 

And then he’s kissing him once more, this time with more need. Each and every one of the kisses Nines gives him, no matter how chaste, completely takes Gavin’s breath away, the gangster claiming his lips as if he could never possibly have his fill of the detective. By the time Nines breaks away, he’s resting his forehead against Gavin’s, his gentle pants falling against the detective’s lips.

 

“So you’ll have to forgive me but my intentions are somewhat selfish.”

 

But as far as Gavin’s concerned, there’s nothing to forgive.

 

“L-Lube...” he mumbles, reaching for the night stand.

 

Nines helps him, stretching out across the bed in a way that accentuates his lean, muscular figure, the perfect curve of his ass, and it has Gavin swallowing. Hard.

 

“And these?”

 

There’s a tightness in the gangster’s voice as he indicates to the new box of condoms he’s holding. Unopened. Gavin hasn’t had to use them yet since he never brought back any of the men he hooked up with to his apartment.

 

He knows how jealous Nines gets, has witnessed firsthand the gangster’s wrath after what happened with Connor. That the gangster is managing to keep his cool as Gavin’s forced to bring up the three guys he fucked around with since their breakup is something of a miracle.

 

“I, uh, didn’t bareback with anyone,” Gavin mutters, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Uh...you?”

 

But as soon as the question’s out there, he realizes he doesn’t want to know the answer. He should just tell Nines he’ll use the god damn condom because then they don’t need to have this conversation and he doesn’t have to imagine Nines burying himself in men far more attractive than him. He’s seen the kind of men Nines can get and he’s not about to pretend he’s anywhere near their league.

 

Nines stiffens at that and the tension that follows the awkward silence has Gavin struggling to bury his own jealousy. Of course Nines has fucked other men and of course every one of them is probably some drop-dead gorgeous prick who can bend in ways Gavin can’t and—

 

“...none of the men who once found me attractive could stand looking at me after my... _accident_ ,” Nines quietly admits. He doesn’t look at Gavin as he sets the box of condoms back. “So, no, we will not need these.”

 

And Gavin can’t help but feel fucking childish for his wild train of thought. While Gavin pretended to move on with men he couldn’t give a shit about, Nines struggled with the damage done to his face.

 

When Nines returns to his side, his admission making him slip into a sullen silence, Gavin wastes no time in pulling the gangster into his arms. The gangster makes a sound of surprise as Gavin’s lips press to the raised flesh, the marred side of Nines’ beautiful face, and no weak protest will deter him. He kisses even inch of skin that’s been crudely sewn back together, showers affection upon what Nines insists on hiding beneath his mask. The red at Nines’ temple slowly settles back to a warmer, neutral blue as something wet splashes on Gavin’s cheek and slides down the side of his face.

 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Gavin whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His lips seek out Nines’, kissing him softly as the gangster quivers in his embrace. He means every god damn word he says.

 

When his palm cups the right side of Nines’ face, the gangster involuntarily flinches but then eases into the touch, eyes brimming with affection that leaves a stuttering in Gavin’s chest. Curiously, Gavin brushes his thumb over the odd light at the gangster’s temple, no longer as repulsed by it as he was when it was first revealed hours before. It juts out almost imperceptibly, possibly to connect to the mask, and Gavin wonders if it really is warm to the touch or if it’s the glow of it that makes it seem that way.

 

“Gavin,” Nines whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

 

He takes Gavin by the wrist, presses his lips to the faded marks he’d inflicted the weekend before, as if he can kiss away the damage he’d wrought on the detective’s flesh. A silent apology. But Gavin isn’t upset, will wear all of Nines’ bruises and bear the brunt of his devotion, no matter the cost.

 

With the lubricant in hand, Nines squirts it into Gavin’s palm.

 

Once his fingers are slicked, Gavin circles them over the gangster’s entrance, his eyes flickering up to the heated expression in Nines’ watery gaze. Nines remains seated carefully on his abdomen and as Gavin presses the tip of one slowly through that tight ring, he utters a gentle sigh of bliss. Nines is still as unbelievably tight as Gavin remembers and he finds himself groaning as he buries his finger completely inside the gangster.

 

“F-fuck, babe...”

 

He retracts carefully, pushes his finger back in a bit more forcefully. Nines relaxes, soft sounds spilling from his parted lips each time Gavin presses back into him. As a second finger is added, he takes it easily, eager to accommodate the intrusion as Gavin alternates by scissoring and thrusting them up into him. The detective is captivated by the expressions flitting across the gangster’s face, by the breathy moans and tight heat that swallow his fingers greedily. He imagines what it will feel like to replace them with his aching erection, which weeps in neglect as it sits heavy between his thighs.

 

“G-Gavin, darling,” Nines whines, once a third is added.

 

Gavin’s name cracks on the gangster’s tongue. He thrusts them into the gangster, angling them just right to hit that wonderful spot that’ll have Nines start to unravel above him. The broken cry Nines whimpers echoes a vulnerability Gavin knows is for him only because no one else gets to see Nines like this, gets to watch and feel Nines shed his many layers. Any fool would think this is Nines’ submission but Gavin knows Nines doesn’t submit to anyone, that even this is about Gavin offering himself to the gangster and that Nines is still pulling every one of his strings.

 

Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s loved anyone as violently as he loves Nines.

 

“Harder,” Nines moans, with Gavin’s fingers buried deep within him. He grinds down roughly on the detective’s hand, moving to keep Gavin stroking against that delicious bundle of nerves. “Oh, Gavin! F-fuck me!”

 

Jesus fucking Christ, Gavin would be cumming on command if he were that much weaker, hearing anyone beg so brokenly for him. But he’s not fooled; Nines may writhe on his fingers, put on a shameless display of want, but it’s as much a demand to Gavin’s ears as anything Nines could have shouted or snapped at him.

 

His fingers leave Nines, hands fumbling with the lube. It slips onto the sheets, plucked by long, slim fingers as Nines clucks his tongue impatiently. He slicks his palm and slides it up Gavin’s shaft, who groans loudly at finally being touched again. He has hardly any time to voice his disappointment when those firm strokes cease as Nines is positioning himself above Gavin’s cock, the tip pressed against his slicked hole. With a low moan, Nines pushes down slowly onto Gavin’s erection.

 

It’s been months since Gavin’s been like this with anyone and the sensation of being unwrapped and buried inside another man is almost too overwhelming. The calloused tips of his fingers dig deep into Nines’ hips, adding to the gangster’s own share of bruises from the fight, as Gavin battles every instinct to snap his hips up into the tight warmth squeezing around his cock. In only a few thrusts, he’ll be spent so he takes a shuddering breath, steadies the erratic thumping in his chest and mentally shouts at his dick to calm the fuck down.

 

Tender lips press to his jawline. “Relax, detective. Let me make you feel good.”

 

Easy for him to say. He’s not two seconds away from blowing his load.

 

“Already feel good, babe,” Gavin mumbles, feeling his cheeks color. “Uh...maybe too good...”

 

Nines laughs, though there’s no judgment in the sound. He drops his forehead to Gavin’s, traces his thumb to the edge of Gavin’s longest scar in the line of his stubble, his words pressing to the detective’s cheek like a breathy sigh. “Then I’ll go slow.”

 

And he does, shifting his hips upwards until Gavin’s only half-way inside of him, before dropping back down carefully. Gavin recalls how Nines always needs a bit more time to adjust, despite Gavin lacking any significant girth, and the fact that they need to start this slowly is the one thing keeping him from finishing too soon. Though it takes longer before Nines trusts himself to move once more, he litters Gavin’s skin with soft kisses, whispers gentle words as Gavin’s fingers trace the hard abs in front of him. Gavin wastes no time in reacquainting himself with Nines’ body as he runs his hands over every inch of pale flesh within reach.

 

“N-Nines, baby,” Gavin groans, watching raptly as Nines moves on his cock, “fuck, you look so hot riding my dick.”

 

“Y-you don’t know how much I—ah, I’ve w-wanted this,” Nines says, his voice hitching in a breathy moan. He clenches and Gavin shudders, the tight squeeze sending tiny ripples of pleasure coursing up his spine. “You f-feel so full inside me.”

 

He utters it as if it’s some lewd confession and it has warmth curling in Gavin’s chest, makes him feel wanted in a way no one else ever has. Before he can help himself, he asks, “Y-you’ve fingered yourself?”

 

Gavin’s eyes darken as he stares up lustfully at the gangster.

 

Nines flushes. “...five months is a _long time_...”

 

It surprises Gavin, as Nines had been against having his asshole played with throughout most of their relationship. Enough, at least, that it was clearly something he hadn’t been doing himself.

 

Just the thought of Nines pushing his own fingers in his snug hole fills the detective with a surge of need. He tries to lean up but Nines won’t let him, pushing him back against the pillow. The gangster moves his hips and Gavin’s toes curl at how wonderful the angle feels. Uttering his name softly, Nines takes one of Gavin’s hands and slides his tongue over the pulse point of his inner wrist, a playful smirk on his lips. “Lay back, Gavin. I’ll take care of you.”

 

Nines builds a steady rhythm, rocking his hips gently as he moves on the detective’s lap. The red has returned at his temple, a swirl of light that seems to flare the more intensely the gangster moves. Each time Nines shifts his hips, Gavin’s name a wanton moan that tumbles from his parted mouth, Gavin’s brought that much closer to the edge, has never been that far from it. He’s been dangling on the precipice from the moment Nines’ hands brought warmth back to his flesh and all he’s been waiting for is permission to let go.

 

“Touch me,” Nines commands, the needy crack in his voice doing little to diminish the power of the demand.

 

Gavin follows without hesitation, grasping firmly the throbbing length before him. He presses his thumb to the underside of the tip, circles it over the pre-cum that’s collected in the slit. Nines’ eyes flutter closed and when Gavin begins to pump his hand up and down Nines’ shaft, the gangster moves in time with the rhythm Gavin sets.

 

“G-Gavin,” Nines gasps, throwing his head back and groaning loudly. And Gavin feels that build crescendo, fights to hold on a little longer, as the gangster pistons down hard on his cock. He can barely bring himself to watch as Nines rides him, the image of his erection disappearing into the gangster’s ass with each bounce making it near painful to resist finishing. “D-darling, c-cum inside me...I w-want you to ahh—!”

 

Hot, white threads of cum spill from Nines’ cock, hitting Gavin’s chin, neck, and chest and it’s too much for the detective. He goes taut as Nines clenches hard on his cock, moans brokenly as he can no longer hold back, and releases hard inside the gangster. Wave after wave of pleasure leaves him shaking, Nines rocking in his lap as Gavin empties himself, the gangster taking everything Gavin has to give. Absently, he returns the favor, moving his hand weakly to milk Nines, cum now dripping from his fingers and chin.

 

Panting heavily, Nines collapses forward, bent over and pressing his sweating forehead to Gavin’s hair. The bullet he wears around his neck caresses the edge of Gavin’s jaw. For a long moment, both fight to regain their breath, Gavin’s chest screaming in pain each time his diaphragm expands but he couldn’t give a shit about his stupid ribs. Being like this, with Nines, is worth enduring the worst physical pain he can imagine.

 

As the gangster’s pants begin to subside, he swipes his tongue across Gavin’s chin. Unable to resist, Gavin presses their mouths together, kissing him deeply. The salty taste of Nines on his tongue has Gavin groaning into the kiss.

 

“You’ve stopped shivering,” Nines teases, breaking off the kiss and nuzzling Gavin’s cheek. “I suppose this means I should leave now.”

 

“You better not,” Gavin answers, with a low growl. He tries to tug Nines into his arms but ends up wincing in pain.

 

Nines slowly pulls off of Gavin, extracting himself from the detective’s grip.“Gavin...”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the detective mumbles, not at all liking that the gangster’s now sitting on the edge of his bed instead of laying beside him. He slowly pulls himself into a sitting position, Nines helping to prop up a pillow behind him. “But it was worth it so fuck you.”

 

“I believe you already did that,” Nines answers smoothly, a coy half-smirk on his lips. “Though I am not entirely blameless. Had we waited, well...I am not quite certain _what_ I would have done with myself.”

 

“Really? ‘Cuz I can think of a few things,” Gavin says, with a cheeky smirk. “You could always jack—mmph!”

 

Nines silences him with a kiss. “Now, Detective, there is no need to ruin the moment by being your usual crass self.”

 

He gets up and heads out of the bedroom.

 

“...just admit you love it, asshole!” Gavin calls after him.

 

Poking his head back through the doorway, Nines winks. “I admit: I do love your asshole.”

 

It takes Gavin’s tired brain a moment to catch up with what Nines just said to him. “Now who’s the crass one! Dick!”

 

But in spite of that, Gavin finds he’s struggling to hold back a grin.

 

Nines is not gone long and soon returns with a glass of water and ibuprofen for Gavin. Gavin swallows a pill, downs just over half the glass, and falls into a comfortable silence as Nines uses the towel from earlier to carefully clean off Gavin’s neck and chest. His fingers are gentle when they apply a bit more of the aloe vera cream to the bruises and his expression becomes tender when Gavin takes the bottle, squirts some onto his own fingers, and begins rubbing some of the cream on Nines’ chest.

 

“You need some, too,” Gavin says, feeling his cheeks flare. Nines has spent the whole night taking care of him and it’s been so easy to forget that the gangster has his own share of dark bruises.

 

The light at Nines’ temple turns yellow. Gavin’s still not sure what any of that means.

 

As his eyes fall to the chain the gangster wears, he hears Nines say, quietly, “It’s January 22nd.”

 

Gavin’s chest is tight as he gingerly lets his fingers caress the smooth metal of the bullet. That date means little to few people outside of them.

 

“Not gonna chloroform me this time?”

 

“I prefer you to be conscious.”

 

“Lucky me.”

 

There’s so much more he should be saying but Gavin’s never been good at this. One year and nearly half of that time they’ve spent apart because both of them are shit at having these kinds of conversations, of uttering the only words that matter.

 

So Gavin says the next best thing.

 

“Stay.”

 

And he doesn’t mean for the night.

 

“Of course,” Nines answers, his voice thick.

 

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points researched:
> 
> Hypothermia: Mayo Clinic is amazing! In the first outline, Gavin was meant to come out of being shot with just a few bruises, despite falling in the Detroit River in the middle of freaken winter. Of course, when I started writing Chapter 6, I realized how dumb it was to have Gavin walk away without being punished by the elements and this is how I ended up with a ‘cuddling-for-warmth’ type of reconciliation (and had to re-outline the entirety of this chapter >.>).
> 
> The Motor Cortex: Although there seems to be some controversy over how voluntary facial movement is controlled, it’s believed that the motor cortex is responsible for this. Any psychology/neurology majors, feel free to correct me (I only taught AP Psychology in the winter term so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m already forgetting this).


	8. The Debt I Owe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin confronts Rupert and receives some shocking news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone! This ended up getting edited later than expected. Though I aim for weekly updates, i'm gonna commit to a 7 to 10 day rule for updates just because I don't always anticipate how busy my Sundays and Mondays can get. As a warning, Chapter 9, which is completed, may not end up online until next Monday/Tuesday as I am on vacation this week and will be out of the city until Sunday. I will try and do some editing while away but I might not get around to it until after I come back ^^;;;. 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely readers for filling my days with your amazing commentary and speculations. Some special shout outs to [The_Pandora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Pandora/pseuds/The_Pandora) for your incredibly lovely comment; [GreyLiliy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy), who has just hopped aboard this burning ship with us (I honestly think of this fic as 'what if Reed900 and gangsters but everything's on fire'); and [Jar_of_Stories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jar_of_stories/pseuds/Jar_of_stories) for being inspired to write their own gangster fic. Also, I am living for [AlexanderBlackwood's](https://alexanderblackwood.tumblr.com/) reactions on Tumblr. It shocked me when this first popped up in the tag but I found it so hilarious! You can find one of them [here.](https://alexanderblackwood.tumblr.com/post/186482494088/why-not-make-me-pestering-my-best-friend-with-bad)
> 
> No real warnings, beyond the usual tags for this fic. Unless 'Gavin Reed is kind of an asshole' counts as a warning but I'm pretty sure we all know that XD. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Gavin. Each time he begins to succumb to the blissful lull of slumber, he’s pulled violently beneath ice cold waves, tugged further down into the murky depths as the frigid water nips at his skin. His lips part in a cry of pain but no sound can escape them, liquid filling his lungs rapidly. No matter how he struggles against the current, there’s no end to his watery prison. This is how he’s going to die.

 

Just as he feels his consciousness begin to slip, a pale hand reaches for him. He grasps it, weakly, clings with the last of his strength. And as he’s saved from the watery depths, he sees an angry ring of red spinning on his savior’s face.

 

He chokes on air as he’s pulled onto a dock, wheezes and sucks it in greedily. Too weak to even sit up, he collapses onto his stomach. He coughs up what he swallowed, his throat burning and a metallic flavor sitting heavy on his tongue. The freezing air feels painful on his flesh.

 

As he lifts his head to stare blearily at the black leather Oxford of his rescuer, a soothing voice cuts above the sound of the hissing wind. “I did this, all of this, for you, Gavin.”

 

Something wet drips onto Gavin’s cheek. His shivering fingers brush it away and his eyes widen as they come back red. But...no. His hands are red, the water dripping from face is red. What he coughed up…

 

He tries to cry out but can only manage a choked sound that gargles at the back of his throat. As he stares up, he sees Nines dangling the severed head of Zlatko in his left hand. But even more terrifying is that Nines no longer looks like Nines: gone are his scars, his hair, his skin...his entire head replaced with white metallic plating. The only parts of him recognizable are his cool, gray eyes and the red burning at his temple.

 

“I would do anything for you,” Nines whispers, affectionately. He tosses Zlatko’s head into a sea of red that laps at the dock. Blood. And among the crimson waves, Gavin sees the bodies of the people Nines has killed for him: Murphy. Aleksi. The Russian henchmen. Zlatko.

 

Nines crouches down, a metallic hand reaching to stroke Gavin’s hair. The detective shrinks away in fear. “I love you, Gavin.”

 

The android smiles.

 

Gavin screams.

 

He’s not sure if he screams in his head or aloud as he awakens in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest, breathing hard. In a wild panic, he pulls himself free of the embrace he’s in, rolls onto his stomach even as his aching body protests, grips at the sheets as he tries to purge his mind of the remaining vestiges of his nightmare. He can’t even be sure _what_ he had been dreaming: all he knows is that the lingering terror clings to his sweaty, naked flesh.

 

Someone stirs beside him and Gavin immediately feels guilty. He hadn’t meant to wake Rupert and hopes the grad student doesn’t have an early morning class. Rupert’s always studying his ass off for something and the last thing he needs is Gavin fucking up his sleep schedule—

 

“Darling?”

 

Gavin startles as long, slim fingers gently touch his shoulder. The guilt he’s been feeling over Rupert has nothing at all to do with interrupting his sleep.

 

Swallowing heavily, Gavin settles with a wince onto his back, turning his head to face the other man in his bed. Lying on his left side, the scarred half of Nines’ face is visible, his brows furrowed in a worried frown. Gavin’s not quite sure why but seeing the damage to Nines’ skin somehow brings him comfort.

 

 _It should be Rupert_ , a voice in his head reminds him.

 

Nines strokes Gavin’s cheek with that same hand he saw tear a man’s head from his body only a few hours before. It was as unnerving then as it is now and yet Gavin knows those hands will never harm him, is addicted to how tender they are as they caress his flesh.

 

He allows himself to be pulled into Nines’ warm embrace, grips the gangster just as tightly, as Nines whispers softly to him, “I’m here, Gavin.”

 

 _It should be Rupert,_ that voice in his head tries telling him again.

 

 _No,_ he decides, as Nines gentle words help chase away the remnants of his panic, pull him back into a dreamless sleep, _it shouldn’t._

 

* * *

 

Sunlight streams in through the cracks in the blinds, falling across Gavin’s face. He grumbles, rolls onto his side, and throws an arm over his face. He’s exhausted, sore, and nowhere near ready to face whatever bullshit awaits him on his day off.

 

From somewhere in his apartment, he hears the persistent meowing of his cat and it’s making falling back asleep an impossible task. He tries to ignore him, dreads the harassment that he knows is coming since Socks operates on his own schedule and gives zero fucks about Gavin’s sleep. But though the meowing continues, Socks still doesn’t come bounding in.

 

 _Asshole’s making me go to him,_ Gavin thinks, grumpily.

 

He gives up trying to sleep. With a yawn, he throws off the blanket, slowly sits up. As he glances at the space beside him, he freezes.

 

Empty.

 

It hits him harder than it should, seeing the vacant space. After everything that happened the night before—after what Gavin did to Rupert—the least he expected was for Nines to not fuck off once he’s had his fun with him. The precarious trust he has is immediately put into question and Gavin wonders how he could be so stupid—so fucking naive—to think Nines would—

 

“Make as much noise as you want, I will not indulge your narcissism by giving you attention,” someone says, irritably, from somewhere in the apartment.

 

A warm feeling fills Gavin’s chest, his pulse quickening.

 

Nines stayed. He fucking _stayed._

 

And he suddenly feels silly for the near-panic the empty spot beside him had sent him into.

 

The meowing remains just as loud as ever and his nose picks up something else: a mouth-watering aroma coming from his kitchen. After the stress of the last few days and the many meals he skipped, Gavin feels his stomach growl in response.

 

“It is mere chance that your species has been domesticated and that you have not been farmed for fur,” Nines snaps at the cat. “However, if you do not cease your caterwauling, I will be forced to make an exception.”

 

“Are you threatening my fucking cat?!” Gavin calls out.

 

He reaches for the full glass of water on the nightstand and the bottle of ibuprofen.

 

“It is getting on my nerves.”

 

“He’s hungry. For fuck sakes, just feed him one of the cans in the cupboard above the sink!”

 

Gavin pops one of the pills in his mouth and downs it with water.

 

“If you reward it with food every time it makes noise, it will never learn to correct its behavior.”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes at the condescending tone Nines is using. The gangster’s clearly never had pets before. “He’s a god damn cat, Nines. Not a fucking dog. You think he gives a shit?”

 

A pause. Gavin hears some shuffling, the sound of a cupboard shutting a bit too loudly, and then one of the drawers being opened. “For the record, I do not agree with your methodology for taming pets. This is hardly conducive to fostering any sort of obedience.”

 

Though Nines can’t see it, Gavin flips him off through the wall separating them.

 

“I do not need to be in the room to know you are flipping me off, darling.”

 

 _Asshole,_ Gavin thinks, his chest fluttering at the term of endearment. He retrieves his discarded pajama pants and slips them on.

 

The aroma is stronger once he leaves his room, hobbling into the kitchen. Socks is purring and chowing down happily on the food now in his dish while Nines is shaking his head at the display and goes back to flipping bacon. Clad in only those dark pants he had worn briefly the night before, Gavin’s eyes fall to Nines’ ass, which fill them out in a way that no amount of squats has been able to get the detective to shape his own that round and firm. Fuck, does Nines look good.

 

“I question how sanitary it is to have your cat consume food in the same space you store your own,” Nines says, sniffing in disdain at the sounds the cat is making.

 

Gavin chuckles, slides his arms around Nines waist as he hugs him from behind. He immediately feels the gangster relax, settle back into his embrace, and says, “Stop being a dick to my cat.”

 

“That four-legged glutton you insist on sharing this apartment with started it,” Nines complains. “I was perfectly content to remain in bed with you until it began making all that noise.”

 

Gavin lets Nines rant, knowing any defense of his pet would be about as successful as he had been at getting Nines to watch anything with him. He licks a path on Nines’ shoulder blade between two freckles, the palm of his hand brushing over the gangster’s hard abs. He detects a slight hitch in Nines’ breath and hides a smirk as he kisses the back of the gangster’s neck.

 

“We’re a package deal, babe,” Gavin says, his arousal growing the more he touches Nines. “So if you’re gonna be with me, you gotta be nice to my cat.”

 

Nines shuts off the element, leaving the bacon to sizzle. There’s a sudden change to his demeanor, a solemness that has the detective’s mouth pulling into a frown when the gangster turns to face him. His thumb presses delicately at one of the bruises he left on Gavin’s neck, the odd light at his temple spinning.

 

“A pity, then,” he says, and Gavin feels a dull thud in his chest, holds his breath, as Nines regards him with a sad look. Those fears from minutes before resurface and Gavin finds himself desperately hoping Nines isn’t about to tell him how much he regrets what they had done. “It seems you are making me abandon my dislike of domesticated animals.”

 

When Nines gives him a sexy half-smirk, Gavin can finally release that breath he’s holding, smacks the gangster on the shoulder. Nines winces as the detective hits one of his bruises. “Serves you fucking right, you dick.”

 

With a laugh, Nines leans down and presses his lips chastely to Gavin’s. The warmth and familiarity of them has Gavin melting into the arms that pull him carefully against the gangster, throat thick when he feels the bullet against his skin. Nines drops his head to rest it on the crook where Gavin’s neck meets his shoulder and he can feel the rough scars press to his skin. The arms around him tighten as Nines releases a shaking breath.

 

“Tolerating your cat is the least of which you can ask of me,” Nines says, quietly. There’s a roughness to his voice, as if he’s struggling to keep it even, as he admits, “When I saw you fall off the pier, I thought...”

 

Nines trembles in his arms, unable to complete the thought. Gavin remembers the gangster’s terrified shout cut off by the sound of the shotgun, the pressure against his chest forcing him off the pier. The only solace from the loud ringing in his ears was that it had drowned out the pain he had heard in Nines’ voice. He never wants to have to hear that again.

 

“I shouldn’t be here. I am not supposed to be,” Nines continues, when he has the strength to speak again. “But after last night...”

 

Gavin holds him tightly. “Whaddya mean you shouldn’t be here? Says who?”

 

Nines lifts his head, his eyes narrowing. An anger in them that blazes with a hatred Gavin knows will only end in blood. He cradles Nines’ face, thumb brushing over the crude scarring on his right cheek but even the tender gesture cannot rein in the ire that pulls the gangster’s mouth in a scowl. “Who do you think?”

 

“...Kamski? Why the fuck does he care what you do?”

 

“He believes you make me less loyal to his organization,” Nines admits.

 

And Gavin’s recalling the trade Nines had tried to make the night before. “So that’s why he cut up your face?”

 

Nines doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

 

“...I’m gonna kill that fucking prick.”

 

The quiet declaration startles Nines, Gavin’s voice shaking with fury. Even as he traces the scars on Nines’ cheek, he knows that to him, it doesn’t matter how many mark the gangster’s flesh. The scars _don’t_ matter to Gavin, but they _do_ to Nines. And to know that the power-hungry asshole probably took great pleasure in carving into Nines’ face makes Gavin all that more eager to pull his gun on him the next time he sees that conniving piece of shit.

 

“Gavin, you do not need to—”

 

A knock on the door interrupts him.

 

Gavin tenses, eyes darting to where he keeps one of his firearms hidden in the apartment. He never gets visitors.

 

“He is a bit earlier than I expected,” Nines says, releasing Gavin and walking towards the door.

 

“W-wait, Nines, what are you—!”

 

But the gangster’s already opening the door. Hardly waiting for him to move out of the way, Ralph shuffles in, a wide grin on his scarred face and way too fucking chipper for a Sunday morning. “доброе утро!”

 

“Ralph,” Nines asks, his voice edged with irritation. Though Gavin knows better than to laugh, it’s entertaining to see how quickly the gangster’s mood shifts whenever dealing with Ralph’s quirks, “why are you speaking in Russian?”

 

“Ralph is learning!” the subordinate answers gleefully, handing the suit he is carrying to Nines. Practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, he says, “That way, Ralph will know what the boss is saying next time the boss meets with the Russians!”

 

Nines takes a steadying breath. “Did Ralph do as I asked?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes! Ralph hid the bodies!” And then, as if noticing for the first time that Gavin is in the room, the gangster leans in close and whispers loudly, though it makes no difference, “ _All_ the bodies.”

 

“...and _who_ were those bodies that Ralph hid?”

 

Ralph falls into a contemplative silence, brows furrowing as if he is scrutinizing hard. He glances hesitantly when Nines huffs in impatience. “The...Russians?”

 

“So if we eliminated the Russians, who are these Russians you assume we will be conversing with in the future?”

 

“The...other Russians?”

 

Nines glares at him, asking in a condescending tone, “What _other Russians_ would there be?”

“...the ones in Russia?”

 

Ralph looks very confused, Nines looks really pissed, and Gavin snorts. He stifles his laugh as Nines directs his murderous gaze at the detective. “I suppose you find this _amusing_.”

 

“Christ, Nines, the kid is trying. Give him a break,” Gavin says, with a snicker.

 

Ralph perks up at that. “Ralph’s helping! He likes to help!”

 

“Well, _Ralph_ will be more helpful if he stops wasting his time on something as useless as Russian,” Nines snaps. Ralph wilts a little under the scrutiny. “Did you at least return the detective’s vehicle?”

 

Ralph smiles. “Ralph hot wired it!”

 

“You _WHAT?!”_ Gavin shouts.

 

The scarred gangster’s grin grows even wider. “Ralph is good at hot wiring! He knows how to do it on those old cars! All he needs is to open the panel and—ooh, kitty!”

 

Falling to his knees, Ralph begins petting Socks, who is purring loudly and rubbing against him. The gangster makes gentle cooing sounds, completely oblivious to Gavin, who’s now gone a nice shade of red and is gaping at him.

 

“You—You fucking—!”

 

“Ralph is _trying,_ Gavin. You should give him a break,” Nines mocks.

 

“That’s my fucking car!” Gavin hisses, even as Nines pulls him back into the kitchen.

 

He tries to storm back into the living room but Nines pushes him against the counter, throwing his suit across the island behind them. Leaning in close, Nines whispers in a low, husky voice, “Whatever damage he has done, I will more than make it up to you later. _Repeatedly._ ”

 

With Nines’ body heat pressed so close to him, Gavin’s mind races with all the ways he can do just that.

 

“For now, you should eat something. I will not have you getting sick or overworking yourself,” Nines says, pushing away to retrieve a plate from the dishes rack.

 

Gavin tries not to moan in disappointment. It takes everything he has to not follow close behind the gangster, press into him from behind and feel that warm skin as Nines begins putting scrambled eggs, bacon, and homemade hashbrowns onto the plate. He doesn’t want to risk it with Ralph at the other end of the room, not that the gangster is paying the least bit attention as he plays with Socks.

 

Nines hands the plate to Gavin and picks up his suit. “Ralph is...infuriating. But I would ask that you try not to murder him while I get dressed. If you wish for coffee, there is some already made.”

 

Gavin grumbles something and tries not to let his gaze linger too obviously at Nines’ retreating backside. He begins digging into his food, unable to hold back a groan as his stomach rumbles in approval: somehow, Nines can make something as typical as an all-American breakfast taste like a gourmet meal.

 

By now, Ralph has found one of Socks’ toys and is playing earnestly with the cat, laughing as he gets Socks to chase after the toy mouse. As annoyed as Gavin is at the asshole for what he expects is a mess of cut up wires in his car, at least Ralph genuinely likes his cat, unlike _someone_ the detective knows.

 

He’s barely started his cup of coffee when Nines returns, in a full suit and wool coat. This time, Gavin can’t help but stare because Nines always looks so fucking good in a suit. When Nines’ gray eyes flit over to him, lips pulling in a knowing smirk, Gavin’s face heats and he hides it behind his mug.

 

“I will need to see Chloe about repairing my mask,” Nines says, placing it in his pocket. “And then, I will need to report to Kamski with an update on the Zlatko situation. He will no doubt be wondering where I was last night.”

 

Gavin fidgets with the cup he’s holding, tries not to let his disappointment show. He had been hoping to spend his day off with Nines, making up for all that lost time. But if Kamski’s keeping a tighter leash on the gangster, he doubts that Nines will have an easy time sneaking away.

 

“You, uh, gonna come by later?” he asks.

 

He hates how desperate and pathetic he sounds, hates even more that it’s exactly how he’s feeling. With how close both of them came to dying last night, he doesn’t want to let Nines out of his sight for even a moment.

 

Nines steps in close, takes the mug from Gavin’s hands and sets it on the counter. From this angle, Ralph can’t see the tips of Nines’ fingers brush against the detective’s. “I want to, Gavin. Believe me, there is nothing I want more. But we must be careful. It may be a few days before I can see you again.”

 

Gavin nods, thickly, but can’t bring himself to look at Nines. He startles when Nines touches his chin, sees the yellow swirling at the gangster’s temple. As nervous as he gets being openly affectionate, he leans into the touch.

 

“Gavin—”

 

“Does the detective have any cat treats?”

 

Gavin’s face turns a deep shade of scarlet and a blush splashes across the gangster’s face, who immediately drops his hand. The pair turn to glare at Ralph, who’s grinning and cuddling Socks and is now standing in the kitchen with them.

 

How the fuck is that guy always sneaking up on him?!

 

“Ralph, wait in the hallway!” Nines snaps.

 

“Aww, but Ralph—”

 

“Now, Ralph!”

 

Frowning, Ralph hugs Socks once more and then lets the cat down, trudging dejectedly out the door. Once it shuts behind him, Nines pulls Gavin into his arms, hugs him tightly. Gavin breathes his familiar scent—catches a hint of his own aftershave on the gangster, which only makes Gavin feel more possessive—and buries his face in Nines’ shoulder, content to just stand there and cling to him. He doesn’t know how long he will have to wait before they can do this again and greedily takes every second he can.

 

Nines presses a kiss to Gavin’s hair, before whispering softly into it, “Without my mask, I will need some way to hide my implant. Would you mind if I borrowed one of your hats?”

 

Gavin nods, lifting his head. Reluctantly, he lets go and walks carefully into the living room, his tired body protesting each step. Fuck, he’s getting too old to be shot off of piers.

 

He takes his favorite beanie, a black one with the Detroit Tigers symbol, and hands it to Nines. He half expects the gangster to roll his eyes or turn his nose at it. While Nines has never openly ridiculed Gavin in a cruel way for what he wears, Nines usually rejects wearing Gavin’s clothing because of his own snobbery when it comes to labels and expensive fabrics. Instead, he accepts the hat with a wistful look in his eyes.

 

“My father used to take me to Tigers’ games,” he remarks, quietly.

 

Gavin looks at Nines in surprise. He knows Connor’s a big fan of the Tigers and used to speak fondly of going to games with his father in the summers, who passed away when Connor was in high school. Him and Gavin continued the tradition, though Gavin isn’t as avid a watcher of baseball but he’s still happy to go and see his favorite team play. Of course, it would make sense that Nines would also have that connection with the late Edward Stern.

 

“Haven’t been to a game in a while,” Gavin says, helping tug the beanie lower so it hides the color blinking at the gangster’s temple. Only Nines can make a beanie with a baseball team’s logo look that hot when paired with a designer wool coat. “We should go sometime.”

 

They’ve never been on a date before. And in that moment, Gavin selfishly wants that so bad that it almost physically _hurts_ to think about.

 

Yet the sad look in Nines’ eyes tells him exactly how likely that would be. “I would like that.”

 

Gonzales suspects Nines of killing Aleksi. The DPD has been profiling him for almost two years, trying to connect him with some cold cases.

 

Whatever future they have together can never involve afternoons spent in a crowded stadium eating shitty food and cheering on their favorite team, much less being seen outside in public together.

 

And that makes Gavin more upset than he’s willing to admit.

 

“I will message you when I can get away,” Nines promises, trying to lighten the morose mood that’s fallen over them.

 

Before he leaves, he kisses Gavin deeply, leaving him completely breathless as Gavin grasps tightly onto the lapels of Nines’ coat. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything, that’s promising more than Nines would dare utter with the uncertainty that lays before them. In some ways, it feels like a _goodbye_ and not the kind of goodbye Gavin would want to hear.

 

“Try not to do anything reckless while I’m away,” Nines whispers.

 

Gavin grins sadly. “Can’t promise that, babe.”

 

_I love you._

 

Why is he too fucking spineless to just say it?

 

When the door shuts behind him, Gavin feels like he might just cry. He forlornly shuffles back to his bedroom, sighs heavily and drops down onto his bed. Shit’s still rocky between him and Nines but he needs to shape up and stop acting like it’s the god damn end of the world: Nines may have his scars but he’s shown he can handle the worst of Kamski’s wrath and it’s not as if he’s walking head first into the lion’s den without a plan.

 

Forcing himself to not worry, Gavin pulls his phone out from beneath his pillow and powers it on. Socks pounces up onto the bed, purrs and curls at his side. He absently pets his cat as he checks his notifications.

 

A bunch of messages from Rupert.

 

Fuck.

 

His bed still smells heavily of sex and he still hasn’t dealt with Rupert. He’s pretty sure that on the list of shitty things he’s done, this is quickly making it to the top of that list.

 

Cursing under his breath, he begins typing a response.

 

* * *

 

It’s early in the afternoon when Gavin heads into the diner, stopping briefly in the entrance to kick the slush off his shoes. There are only a handful of people in the place, the bustling of the kitchen staff the only real noise as patrons silently drink their coffee or pick at their food. The place is a bit run down, a little too grimy compared to the new towering buildings that have sprung up in the area in the last decade. Gavin’s always liked this place because it has character—and fucking amazing food—but it’s clear that it’s on its last legs and within a year or two, it will be gone.

 

He heads for one of the empty booths at the back, settles in it with a pained grunt. He managed to get another quick nap in before hastily throwing something on and making the trip down here. He had expected to see a mess of sliced wires in his car but Ralph had surprisingly taken great care in taping them all back together and setting them in the panel. Still, asshole shouldn’t have hot wired his car to begin with.

 

He signals for the waitress—Gloria, and orders a black coffee. Absently, he wonders how Kara’s been doing. He’s not been a regular in years but she had usually been the one working when he came in before his shift. Last he heard, she took her kid and left that abusive piece of shit she’d been married to, found herself a nice guy. Todd was brought in two months ago on red ice charges and Gavin was only too happy to book that asshole.

 

He sips on his coffee as he waits. His phone buzzes on the table and Gavin picks it up, half-expecting it to be Rupert. His pulse races as he sees the unknown ID.

 

[Unknown Sender Jan 22 01:22 PM]

_Darling, you should save this number._

 

With a smirk, he types:

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 22 01:23 PM]

_h_ _ow do I kno ur not sum creeper?_

 

He receives an answer within moments: a quick selfie taken by the gangster, though most of the frame is taken up by Ralph who makes an annoying peace sign with his fingers, wide grin almost maniacal. Nines looks incredibly pissed off and it’s clear that whatever sexy selfie he had attempted has been ruined by his subordinate. Gavin’s trying to hold back his chuckle and his gaze softens as he sees Nines is still wearing his beanie.

 

Fuck, it’s only been hours and he’s already missing the asshole.

 

[9s Jan 22 01:24 PM]

_I_ _gnore that. I had meant to delete that._

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 22 01:24 PM]

_cant unsee it now babe ;)_

 

Gavin’s about to type something else when the sound of footsteps draws his gaze to the man quickly approaching his booth. Immediately, he feels his stomach drop.

 

“Gavin—what happened to you?! Are you alright?!”

 

Rupert instinctively goes to embrace him and Gavin awkwardly shifts, resulting in a clumsy half-hug that nearly has the grad student tripping into the table. At least he makes no attempt to try and kiss Gavin, glances with concern Gavin in no way deserves, as he seats himself across from the detective.

 

“I, uh, fell into the river,” Gavin mutters, then quickly adds, “chasing a perp.”

 

He’s lying through his teeth and it’s so fucking obvious: his nose is heavily bruised, purple spreading to beneath his eyes. He must have cut his lip at some point since there’s a giant scab on the lower right corner. His neck is also littered with love bites, reminders of who claimed him the night before, but at least he could hide those with the scarf he’s wearing. Every time he so much as shifts, he winces visibly from the damage to his chest.

 

Fell into a river? Yeah fucking right.

 

He quickly puts his phone face down on the table so Rupert can’t see the messages he’s been sending.

 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be at the hospital?”

 

Rupert looks very pointedly at Gavin’s chest.

 

“Just a couple of bruised ribs. Nothing I can’t handle.”

 

Rupert seems very ready to argue the opposite but then Gloria’s there, refilling Gavin’s coffee and taking Rupert’s order. The interruption seems to take out some of the grad student’s steam as he glances across the table and releases a defeated sigh. Gently, he takes one of Gavin’s hands and Gavin tries not to visibly flinch at the contact. “I’m flattered that you wanted to see me but you should be at home right now, resting. I don’t like seeing you push yourself so hard.”

 

The worry in his eyes and the tender way in which he holds Gavin’s hand makes the detective pull it back, dropping his gaze guiltily.

 

He needs to do this. Better to get it out of the way.

 

“...Gavin?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Gavin exhales slowly. But the words won’t come. He nervously drums his fingers on the table, darts his eyes when Gloria returns with Rupert’s drink. Once she’s out of earshot, he finally opens his mouth. “Yeah, uh, about last night...”

 

_Fucking say it already._

 

He swallows heavily, leans forward to press his elbows against the table. The guilt is overwhelming and he feels like the shittiest person alive, no matter how much he tries to hide behind the excuse of the undefined nature of their relationship. Whatever expectations Rupert has, Gavin knows he broke every single one of those when he let Nines crawl into bed with him.

 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Rupert says, though Gavin doesn’t miss that note of trepidation.

 

He stares down at the cracked surface of the table. He needs to let the guy down gently, maybe even just make up some lame excuse about how he’s not ready for this shit or that work’s been a bitch lately and he’s got too much on his plate. He doesn’t even need to admit what happened: all he needs to do is make it clear that whatever he’s tried to have with Rupert is not working.

 

He glances into those earnest, warm brown eyes. And, of course, Gavin fucking panics and blurts the first thing he can think of.

 

“I fucked my ex.”

 

And he blurts it loud enough that the woman sitting two tables over looks up from her meal and gives him the nastiest look he’s ever received.

 

Rupert stares at him in a mixture of shock and hurt. And maybe anger. Yep, that’s definitely anger.

 

“...you _fucked_ your ex?”

 

Rupert’s voice hitches and he’s about to say more but then Gloria’s placing his juice in front of him. Gavin’s face colors and Gloria mumbles something before she scurries off.

 

“Were you even _at_ work last night?” Rupert demands, in a loud whisper.

 

Gavin shakes his head.

 

“What the fuck, Gavin?! Why would you do this?!”

 

Rupert struggles to keep his voice low, his warm eyes swimming with emotion. It’s too difficult to look at them without feeling like the piece of shit he is so Gavin drops his gaze to the tabletop and absently traces his fingers along the numerous cracks spider-webbing in front of him. Maybe if he downplays what he did, Rupert will be more understanding.

 

“Not like we’re serious or whatever,” Gavin mutters, with a shrug.

 

In hindsight, Gavin should have considered that his callous delivery coupled with the drink sitting in front of the grad student was a recipe for disaster. In hindsight, Gavin should have also considered that blurting shit about fucking one’s ex is never the right thing to say in ANY situation.

 

Needless to say, the face full of juice he receives and Rupert declaring, “You’re a fucking asshole, Gavin Reed!” before storming out is the least of what he deserves. The woman sitting a few tables down shouts, “You tell him, honey!” before shaking her head in disgust at Gavin.

 

Gavin’s face is red hot as he takes a napkin and wipes away the liquid dripping off his face.

 

Well, that could have gone worse.

 

* * *

 

Once Gavin’s over the humiliation of being ‘dumped’, he decides to leave Rupert a heartfelt apology. He doesn’t expect the grad student to pick up when he calls—in fact, he’s hoping he doesn’t because Gavin just knows he’ll fuck it up if he has to talk to him—so luckily, the call goes to voice mail. He tells him he’s sorry, that he’s got way too much baggage, that he’s still not over his ex (obviously!), and that Rupert never deserved being dragged into his shit. He means all of it, even if he has no illusions that Rupert may even bother listening to it. Were the roles reversed, Gavins knows he wouldn’t.

 

His conscience somewhat eased, he finds distraction in curling up in his bed—which, he shamelessly realizes, smells of Nines—and cuddling Socks as he streams some old sitcom on one of his phone apps. The water damage on the screen is annoying as shit but he doesn’t have the energy to drag his ass to the living room and watch tv. It’s evening and at least Gavin has tonight and tomorrow off, giving him more time to recover. Nines barely messages him after the diner and Gavin tries not to feel disappointed.

 

Most of that night is plagued by uneasy sleep, nightmares that have him jolting awake in a cold sweat. Though Socks’ constant presence gives him some comfort, images of blood, a metallic grin, and an angry, blinking light leave Gavin mostly awake until the light of dawn creeps through his window and he finally gets a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He’s sore and miserable when he awakens in the afternoon but his misery evaporates the moment he checks his phone and reads the single message he received:

 

[9s Jan 23 08:41 AM]

_I miss you._

 

And suddenly, it’s as if everything from the morning Gavin had walked out on Nines had never happened. They text each other throughout the day, Nines’ replies more infrequent since Kamski ‘needs him to do something’ but without the guilt of Rupert looming over him, Gavin can conveniently forget the body count the gangster’s racked up and indulge in the blissful knowledge that Nines is _his_ once again. Just before he passes out for the night, he stares at his bruised face in the mirror, brushes the tips of his fingers against the deep purple marks Nines left on his neck and there’s a violent thud in his chest as he desperately aches for _more._

 

When Tuesday morning rolls around, Gavin finds that not even the shitty weather can ruin his mood as he kicks off the snow from his boots and strolls into the Sixth Precinct. The place is surprisingly quiet, everyone around him seeming beside themselves, but Gavin pays it no heed, dropping in his chair to message Nines back. He received a shit ton of messages overnight, mostly from Chau, but Gavin decided he’d deal with whatever the fuck the asshole wants after his shift starts.

 

He feels someone peering over his shoulder and Gavin quickly hides his screen. “New boyfriend?”

 

“Fuck off, Hicks,” Gavin snaps, wheeling his chair in closer to his desk. Even the minty mouthwash Hicks uses smells foul to him.

 

Hicks sits on the edge of his desk, arms folded and leering down at his partner. “I don’t think Rupert’s gonna like you messaging other guys.”

 

With a sneer, Gavin roughly pulls one of the files the asshole is sitting on. He’s not about to let that fucker intimidate him. “You see Gonzales? I gotta give this shit to her.”

 

A troubled look that’s as fake as Kamski’s smile in every one of Cyberlife’s ads appears on Hicks’ face. “You didn’t hear?”

 

An unsettling feeling burrows in the pit of Gavin’s chest. He tries not to let it show. “Hear what?”

 

“Gonzales was found dead earlier this morning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: For whatever reason, there is some odd spacing between some of the words in the text messages Gavin and Nines send each other. Maybe it's just my computer but I can't get it to fix no matter how many times I try to edit it. Sorry if this is also affecting you :(.


	9. Step On The Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin searches for answers in the wake of Gonzales' death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for waiting so patiently. I didn't think about this until some of you pointed it out but I should warn you that there will be cliffhangers on each chapter until the end. I hope this doesn't make this too stressful to read ^^;;;. I try and maintain regular updates so you don't spend forever at the edge of your seat. I had hoped to commit to an official chapter count with this update but I just had to split another one into two because it hit more than 15k. My plan is to try and commit to a chapter count by next week's update so that everyone will have an idea of how much of the story remains. So far, it's looking to be around 13 or 14 chapters.
> 
> Thank you to all of the wonderful comments! I did my best to go through and respond to everyone while I was traveling. I will get back to shout outs next week but I want to let all of you know that I loved reading your reactions. Chapter 8, for me, is the weakest chapter in this fic (I feel like any time I write domestic fluff, my lack of confidence at fluff writing makes me second guess everything) so if you enjoyed it, I'm relieved. This one gets right back into the plot and really sets things up for what's to come in the next few chapters. I will warn you that it will get heavy on the angst again from here to the end so be prepared. 
> 
> With that said, onto the story :)

“—she was the bravest of us, always ready to put herself in the line of fire. In the 15 years of service she gave to this precinct, she had proven time and again that she was willing to do anything to protect this city and uphold the values that all of us swore to live by as police officers,” Chau says, pausing meaningfully to glance around the briefing room. With red rimmed eyes, Gavin lets his gaze fall to the floor. “This accident is an unfortunate tragedy and reminds us how precious and valuable life is. But she will be comforted knowing that her brothers and sisters in blue are carrying on the same work she had dedicated her life to.”

 

Gavin wants to sneer at the word ‘accident’, everything about the official report he’d read reeking of bullshit. It’s been only two days since she was found in her crashed vehicle and the expediency at which ‘mechanical failure’ had been declared the culprit raised some serious red flags for Gavin. Faulty brakes and suspension problems? Way too fucking convenient after Gonzales’ big walkout on Saturday. But it wasn’t the first time Gonzales snapped at Chau and Gavin’s gonna need something stronger to go on than the asshole’s pride getting hurt if he’s gonna get to the bottom of this.

 

After Chau finishes, everyone files out of the briefing room and back into the bullpen. Chau’s little speech is most likely something he’s prepping for the one that he’s giving at the funeral on Sunday. Everyone knows there was no love lost between him and Gonzales and for Chau to be the one preaching to her closest friends and family her virtues while hiding behind that fake sympathy is perhaps the biggest insult of all.

 

Slumping in his chair, Gavin stares gloomily at the screen in front of him. An unfinished report remains open, the Aleksi Andronikov case. With the APB still out, and Ralph doing fuck knows with Zlatko’s corpse—fuck, this should bother him way more than it fucking does _—_ Chau and everyone assumes Zlatko is simply in hiding. And it will probably stay that way until the body shows up at some opportune moment and Chau can send assholes like Hicks to the scene to corrupt all the evidence and wouldn’t you fucking know? They’ll end up declaring Zlatko’s decapitation as a suicide or some bullshit like that.

 

Gonzales was the last person with any real authority at this station who wouldn’t stand for that corruption.

 

Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose and releases a low shudder.

 

“You doing okay, buddy?”

 

Gavin flicks his gaze up at Hicks, who’s leaning against his desk with a ‘concerned’ look on his face, arms folded as if he’s about to give him a pep talk. “Not your buddy, Hicks.”

 

“Hey, if you need anyone to talk to...”

 

He glares at him.

 

Not getting the message—or, more likely, blatantly ignoring it—Hicks gives Gavin’s shoulder a comforting pat. “I’m here for you.”

 

There’s a long list of people Gavin would rather have a heart-to-heart with. A very fucking long list.

 

He only just bites back an expletive as Hicks returns to his own desk.

 

Glancing back at the document on his screen, Gavin’s trying to think of why in the hell Chau, or anyone, would make a move against Gonzales. The shitty evidence they gathered was all used to pin Aleksi’s death on Zlatko, even if the motive made little fucking sense. But if Kamski wanted Zlatko dead that badly, a motive was never needed since Zlatko wasn’t supposed to make it to court: the APB was meant to smoke Zlatko out so he couldn’t hide behind the few friends he had with legal authority. No way was Gonzales able to tie the evidence to the person she really suspected, unless…

 

Pulling his chair out abruptly, Gavin hops out of it and beeline’s straight to the evidence archive. Hicks’ eyes follow him the whole way so Gavin makes sure to flip the creeper off before disappearing down the hall. Nines confirmed some time ago that someone working for Kamski had kept tabs on him and he’s beginning to think he knows who that fucker is.

 

Once down in the archive, Gavin accesses the case him and Gonzales had been working on: Zlatko admitted to killing Miller and Gallagher so none of that interests him. No, it’s what they have on Aleksi and the abandoned warehouse. The little physical evidence they collected from the dump site is cataloged, along with photo evidence of the blood patterns that had been cleaned away at the scene of the homicide. He recalls with a sick sensation of guilt curling in his abdomen his dismissive attitude when Gonzales had sought his assistance in arguing for Kamski’s involvement last week. She had mentioned something about Connor’s ongoing investigation at the DPD…

 

Accessing the nearby panel, Gavin attempts to pull up the open requests Gonzales had submitted but receives a notification demanding his authorization. He inputs his username and password and is immediately blocked.

 

_The fuck?_

 

He tries again and a third time, just to be safe. As the detective assigned to the Andronikov case, he should have no problem opening these documents.

 

_Why the fuck am I locked out?_

 

Cussing under his breath, he tries to open something else Gonzales had submitted about the case. He comes across the same problem immediately.

 

Shit. He knows Gonzales was working different angles while Gavin played up the ignorance card, saving his own ass as much as Nines’. Instead of avoiding her, he should have followed up with her, even if he never intended on helping her put the real person responsible behind bars. He’s become just like the scumbags he works with.

 

Realizing he’s getting nowhere down here, Gavin exits the archive. There is only one other place he might find what he needs.

 

Once back in the bullpen, Gavin heads for Gonzales’ desk. He’s not planning on rifling through her personal effects but he needs something—anything—that can point him in the right direction.

 

A cool voice cuts through the air. “Detective Reed, what are you doing at the lieutenant’s desk?”

 

A few eyes turn to him, Hicks practically smirking gleefully. Gavin scratches at his nose, flinches as it’s still somewhat tender with the fading bruises. “Just seeing if, uh, I can find what Gonzales had on this case we were working on.”

 

“If that’s the Andronikov homicide, it remains open until we apprehend Zlatko,” Chau says, icily. “You can follow up on it once we bring him in.”

 

“Kinda need to see that shit now...”

 

“Return to your desk, Detective, and finish that assignment I gave you earlier.” The warning in Chau’s voice keeps its cold edge, the captain’s patience worn down to the last thread. “Her desk will be cleared out later and her things sent to her family. We don’t want to disrespect her memory.”

 

“If you wanted to respect her memory, you should be looking into her fucking death,” Gavin says, unable to hold back the quiet anger that’s been building over these past few days. He thinks of that last conversation with a heavy ache: he’s a selfish, fucking coward for trying to protect his own ass. So he’s gonna stand up for her now, even if it’s too god damn late. “You don’t think there’s something really fucking fishy about her god damn car suddenly not working?”

 

“What exactly is suspicious about her accident?” Chau demands. “She drove an outdated model—those older cars have been out of production for years and for good reason. She knew the risks.”

 

“Yeah well it’s really god damn convenient she’s ‘out of the way’ after she—!”

 

“I would choose your next words carefully, Detective,” Chau snaps, raising his voice above Gavin’s, “before you make any unfounded accusations you can’t take back!”

 

Gavin snaps his mouth shut, silently seethes in his rage. Hands fisted at his sides, he keeps them there to calm that urge to punch Chau in his snide face. He has a million accusations he’d love to make, most of them involving Chau and whatever role he’s sure Kamski played in this. But getting himself suspended, something Chau’s already threatened him with multiple times, is not the answer.

 

“You’re grieving, Reed, and you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Take the rest of the day off, and tomorrow, if you need it. Come back in when you’ve cleared your head.”

 

He feels Chau’s dismissive tone like a hard slap across the face and it’s hard to fight every instinct screaming at him to dish it back. The condescending way he’s being treated makes his face grow hot as half of the bullpen is watching this exchange. A plethora of insults sit on the edge of his tongue but Gavin manages to hold all of them back as he sneers, “Whatever,” and moodily rips his jacket from his chair, storming out far more quietly than the fucker deserves.

 

The entire drive home, he’s vibrating with anger that only seems to escalate as he snaps at other drivers on the road, swerves dangerously on his sharp turns, and nearly collides with the vehicle parked in front of him when he parks his own. He keeps the engine running, pulls out a cigarette and lights up, taking a cathartic drag from it. With that first exhale, he finally feels some of his ire ease and pulls out his phone.

 

No new texts from Nines.

 

He breathes, shakily. He could really use the distraction right now. Better yet, he could use some fucking answers. Though Nines seems to have fallen out of Kamski’s good graces and is mostly doing red ice distribution—again, shit that should _bother_ Gavin, for fuck sakes—Nines might be his best bet to finding out if Kamski is somehow involved in Gonzales’ death.

 

Gavin idly begins scrolling through his other messages as he keeps smoking. The cigarette nearly falls from his lips as he realizes that he missed the messages Gonzales sent him on Saturday, shortly after her fight with Chau. He had been so distraught over Nines, he must have missed the notification.

 

[Gonzales Jan 21 11:51 AM]

_Coulda used you in there, Reed._

 

_Yeah, you fucking could of,_ Gavin thinks, with a rough swallow.

 

[Gonzales Jan 21 11:51 AM]

_You know it’s not Zlatko. I know you do. It has to be Kamski. I’m gonna follow up on a lead from your old department. Take a look at these when you have a chance._

 

Documents. She sent him the documents he was locked out on.

 

[Gonzales Jan 21 11:53 AM]

_You used to work there, maybe you know more about the Stern-Kamski case Lieutenant Anderson’s been building._

 

[Gonzales Jan 21 11:54 AM]

_I need you to back me up on this, Reed. I can’t do it alone._

 

He let her down and for that, she paid a heavy price. Well, he’s not gonna let her down now.

 

He opens the first of the files, a copy of the official evidence request she had submitted to Chau. He scans the document and tenses as he sees the name _Richard Stern_ appear in the line SUSPECT’S FULL NAME.

 

_Type of offense: Contract killing...shit,_ he thinks, reading over the other sections. As a motive, she lists the ongoing turf war between the Russians and the red ice dealers. Gonzales pretty much had most of it figured out and she hadn’t even been there.

 

The other form is pretty much the same, with the exception that it’s requesting evidence and info on Elijah Kamski.

 

_Request denied – Insufficient evidence connecting the Andronikov homicide to the Stern-Kamski investigation,_ Gavin reads, his brows furrowing in confusion. It strikes him as odd that Connor or Hank would refuse to share evidence with someone else interested in putting Kamski away. Then again, they probably thought Gonzales was corrupt and didn’t want her reporting to Kamski what the DPD has on him.

 

Both forms are dated from last week.

 

Gonzales had gone behind Chau’s back and tried to access the DPD’s files on Kamski and Nines. That hunch telling him her death was no accident is more convincing as he stares at what can easily be the motive for Kamski putting a hit on her.

 

What was it that asshole Hicks had said? _“...some of the higher-ups have been looking to replace her...”_

 

“Fuck,” Gavin cusses, throwing out the butt of his cigarette.

 

If Kamski wasn’t on the top of his shit list before for what he did to Nines, he just secured the spot.

 

_I’m getting that prick, once and for all._

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t bother going into work the next day, or the day after that, not giving a shit if Chau expects him to at least finish off the work week. Only Connor and Chau would have known about Gonzales’ evidence request and he’s got no illusions that Chau went running to Kamski with that info. He’s so pissed, he’s certain if he has to be within five feet of Chau, he’ll be busting the corrupt bastard’s teeth and demanding some fucking answers.

 

With Nines only messaging him sparingly, Gavin spends his free time back at the gym. Not trusting himself to not make his ribs worse, Gavin gets the hot personal trainer who fucked him a few months earlier to help him with some stretches. It’s awkward as shit, especially since Gavin kind of ghosted him and completely changed his workout schedule to avoid accidentally bumping into Tanner, but Tanner isn’t an asshole about it and even shows some concern for Gavin working through his injury. It makes Gavin feel like a prick for what he did.

 

As he’s finishing up in the showers, he feels a prickling discomfort that has him twisting his head in the direction of the lockers. He swears that one of the guys changing has been watching him since he came in.

 

Gavin tries to shake off the feeling, goes to his own locker. But as he’s pulling things out of it, that sensation comes creeping back. There’s a notification on his phone and he unlocks the screen, hoping it can use the distraction to bury his discomfort.

 

[9s Jan 27 06:43 PM]

_You are being followed._

 

[9s Jan 27 06:43 PM]

_Bald, 6 “4’, tribal tattoo at the back of his head._

 

Gavin’s paranoia spikes and he discreetly looks across the room. As the tall man who had been staring at him turns around, rifles through his own locker, Gavin sees a tribal tattoo that takes up most of the back of his head.

 

_Fuck!_

 

Another message.

 

[9s Jan 27 06:45 PM]

_He is one of Kamski’s. He has been following you all week. So long as Kamski is spying on you, we will not be able to meet._

 

Gavin begins typing something back.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 27 06:46 PM]

_fuckers here_

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 27 06:46 PM]

i _wanna c u babe_

 

He frowns as he looks down at his phone. He’s got messages from Hicks that are unread—some bullshit about the asshole wanting to take him out, get his mind off all the shit that’s been going on—and the rest from Tina, along with a missed call from her. He’s dreading having any conversation with her because he’s got a good feeling he knows what—more specifically, _who—_ she is calling him about.

 

No. All he wants is to escape all the crap, pretend for two fucking seconds he doesn’t work at the shittiest precinct in the city, his friend isn’t fucking dead for doing her god damn job, and that he’s not being followed around by some crazy drug dealer’s lackeys.

 

All he wants is Nines and if he has to go another day without seeing him…

 

[9s Jan 27 06:47 PM]

_I want that, too._

 

[9s Jan 27 06:48 PM]

_Would you be able to meet me at this location in an hour?_

 

He looks at the address. Somewhere in the outskirts, a part of Detroit that’s all but abandoned in what had once been the residential slums. Truthfully, he’d much rather get back home and curl up in bed with Nines and his cat.

 

[9s Jan 27 06:49 PM]

_There may be someone watching your building._

 

So much for that plan.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 27 06:49 PM]

_ur boss is creepy as fuck_

 

That uncomfortable feeling is back and Gavin’s trying his damnedest not to look over his shoulder to confirm that he’s being watched. Having a few minutes of privacy would have been fucking nice but he can’t even have that in a change room.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 27 06:50 PM]

_how the fck can i shake this ashole_

 

[9s Jan 27 06:50 PM]

_I think a bit of misdirection is in order ;)_

 

Gavin smirks.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 27 06:51 PM]

_call me_

 

His phone is ringing within moments and Gavin answers. “Hey, Chen, the fuck you been up to?”

 

“Darling, I do hope this role play does not extend to the bedroom,” Nines purrs and just the sound of his voice has Gavin nearly breaking character, warmth blooming in his chest.

 

“Bout to pop in that shitty diner down the street. You know, the one by Decker’s Cafe,” Gavin says, loudly. “You gonna stop by and have a burger?”

 

“...you know my feelings about diner food...”

 

The disdain in Nines’ voice has Gavin chuckling. “Yeah, pretty sure this is where we got that food poisoning from.”

 

“...that you would even pretend to entertain the idea of my ever eating at such an establishment is an assault on my palate...”

 

“See you soon, asshole.”

 

He hangs up and finishes dressing, pretending to be completely oblivious to the pair of eyes discreetly glancing every now and then in his direction. He makes his way out the building, aware that he has only a short time frame before the thug will begin following him. Once he’s through the doors, he quickens his pace. He needs to pass another two buildings before he can duck into the alleyway.

 

He pulls up his phone, opens the camera so it’s facing him, and angles it so he can see over his shoulder. As he walks past the first building, the thug exits the gym, and begins glancing around for him.

 

_Shit!_

 

The thug sees him just as Gavin pivots into the alley. He sprints down the narrow space, careful to dodge a patch of ice, and turns onto the first connecting street. Seeing stairs leading into a basement apartment, he heads down those and hides in the archway, pressing his back to the old granite wall. Luckily, it doesn’t trigger a light and the space is incredibly dark, where not even the glow of the streetlamp can reach. He hears footsteps above, echoing louder as the thug gets closer. Gavin’s holding his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sound of his exhales and the condensation as it wisps in the air.

 

_Fucking keep on walking,_ he silently pleads, clinging to the shadows.

 

With bated breath, he waits as the footsteps stop. And then, just as he feels he cannot hold it in any longer, he hears them once more as they grow fainter in the distance. He carefully exhales.

 

It’s some minutes later before he peeks his head from the archway and quietly makes his way up the steps. He glances cautiously around the alleyway but doesn’t see anyone. Still, he’s not about to slip into a false sense of security. His car’s still at the gym and whoever that lackey is, he knows Gavin’s somewhere around here.

 

Opening the automated taxi app, Gavin brings up GPS of the area and sets his pick up location to a comic book shop a few blocks over. He fucking hates taking those things—god damn death traps just waiting to malfunction—but he can’t run the risk of that thug waiting for him to return to his car. He’ll have to pick it up later.

 

The cab’s only seven minutes away so Gavin pulls up his hood, shoves his cold hands in his pockets, and hastily makes the trek over, keeping his head down in case that asshole’s wandering the streets looking for him. He doesn’t feel as if he can breathe easy until he’s sitting in the back of the taxi, rolling his eyes as the AI keeps demanding he put on his seat belt and finally complies with an expletive so the fucking car will start moving. Fuck, does he hate these things.

 

‘ _omw’,_ he texts Nines.

 

The drive’s uneventful, Gavin flicking through pics of his cat to pass the time. Before long, the taxi’s pulling up to an old building Gavin believes he’s not ever been to before but can’t help shaking the weird sense of deja vu he’s experiencing. He wonders why in the fuck Nines would choose a place like this and tries to confirm the address but the AI only tells him he’s arrived at his destination. In its own way it’s telling him, politely, to get the fuck out.

 

“How many batteries should I tip you?” Gavin smirks.

 

“Should you have found this ride to your satisfaction, a monetary tip will be deducted from your credit card. Please indicate and confirm the percentage amount you wish to—”

 

Gavin slams the door and stalks off towards the building. They couldn’t program those things with a sense of humor? Then again, that would just make them creepier. It’s already fucked up that taxi drivers have become a relic of the past in the decade since SWISH put these taxis on the market.

 

For the first few minutes, Gavin waits outside, shivering and hugging his arms around himself. The temperature’s already dropped since leaving the gym and he’s starting to feel ridiculous standing around in the cold. He then realizes Nines never said he’d meet him outside.

 

[Gavin Reed Jan 27 07:43 PM]

_where r u babe?_

 

[9s Jan 27 07:43 PM]

_Inside._

 

Gavin glances up at the old building—some storage facility—and then around the surrounding street. The few other warehouses he sees have all sorts of graffiti on the sides, smashed windows and broken doors. There are some cars parked along the street, most of them rusted and old. The neighborhood is basically a ghost town.

 

Gavin suppresses a shudder and cautiously opens one of the large doors.

 

The hallway leading into the open storage space is dark, faint light coming from ahead. The door falls shut behind him louder than he anticipates and he tries not to jump out of his skin, only just manages to suppress a sound. As his eyes adjust to the dark, he feels for a nearby switch and flicks it. No power.

 

His boots crunch on the concrete floor as he follows the source of the light. The hallway opens into a large room, mostly filled with old, metal containers. Some candles have been placed around different surfaces and if it wasn’t so chilly, nor so creepy the way every tiny sound echoed in the room, Gavin would almost think it ‘romantic’. The long shadows cast on the walls warp into all sorts of shapes in his overactive mind.

 

“N-Nines?” Gavin calls, his voice coming out in a squeak. He coughs, lowers it with a flush, and calls out again, “You around?”

 

A door slowly creaks open, as if by itself, to the far end of Gavin’s right. He jerks his head, pulse racing as a chill slinks its way down his spine. With his heart hammering, he takes a long, shuddering breath, berates himself for letting his panic get the best of him. For all he knows, Nines might be in there.

 

Convincing himself he’s not the least bit terrified (bullshit, he totally fucking is), he shoves his hands in his jeans and walks towards the room. As he gets closer, he notices that there’s a lot more light coming from within and when he sees what it is, he finds himself frozen in the doorway.

 

Candles. Dozens of them. All placed around the room, a faint scent emanating from them. Musky with a hint of spice, something Gavin would not be able to identify, yet he finds he doesn’t hate it. His gaze softens as he sees the table in the center of the room, its metallic surface completely covered with red rose petals, some spilling to the floor. Getting a good look at the room, he finally gets it.

 

He’s been here before.

 

Approaching the table, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now, he gingerly touches a wine-colored velvet case placed in the center. The material feels expensive and his curiosity is piqued at what it could contain. As he attempts to pick it up, he feels something cold and metallic press to the side of his temple.

 

The case slips from his fingers. His reaction is to panic but then he smells that intoxicating cologne, the hammering in his chest increasing with the hitching of his breath. A solid frame presses into him from behind, lips ghosting the edge of his ear. A hot, sultry voice whispers, “There’s no use struggling.”

 

The first words Nines had said to him in this room.

 

“Don’t even try and bullshit me, babe,” Gavin says, pressing back against the gangster. The gun at his temple gives him a kind of thrill that has heat curling low in his abdomen. “We both know the gun’s not fucking loaded.”

 

Nines pulls Gavin’s ear lobe between his teeth and the detective struggles to swallow a gasp. An arm slides around his front, holding him possessively against the gangster. With a breathy chuckle, Nines says, “On the contrary, I merely put the safety on.”

 

“You fucking what?!”

 

Gavin yelps, hitting the side of the table as he ducks his head. Nines releases him and the asshole’s laughing to himself, even as Gavin gives him a murderous glare. When his laughter subsides, Nines holds up his gun and takes out the clip from his coat pocket, putting both of them on the table.

 

“That’s not fucking funny,” Gavin complains, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the table. “Fuck sakes, you said you wouldn’t lie to me, asshole!”

 

Nines smirks. “But darling, the safety _is_ on. I had merely implied it was loaded.”

 

He places a hand on either side of Gavin, leans in to try and kiss him but the detective is petulant, stopping him with a hand on the gangster’s chest. The rich scent of him, the way those loose strands of hair fall over his forehead and the sexy smirk on his lips, are making it difficult for Gavin to think straight. His face is flawless, the mask replaced and hiding that odd circle that sits beneath at his temple. And now, much more than before, Gavin sees that the right side of his handsome face perfectly mirrors the expression on the left.

 

For a moment, Gavin is completely pulled in by the facade, Nines looking as beautiful as he had the night they fucked for the first time in this warehouse. The significance of their being here a year later is not lost on him and he’s unable to speak, the stress of the week slipping away as he feels the warmth of Nines beneath the palm of his hand. All he’s wanted all week is to be right where he is now and now that he’s here, it’s almost as if he’s afraid to utter another sound, to find that this is all some twisted fantasy his mind is playing on him to remind him how much he misses Nines when he’s not with him.

 

Nines’ mouth pulls into a frown. “Perhaps my joke had been a bit tasteless. Gavin, I hadn’t meant to...”

 

But Gavin doesn’t need to hear the apology, is snaking his arms around Nines to hug him tightly. He grips him as if there’s nothing more terrifying than letting him go, breathes in his scent as he buries his face in the crook of Nines’ neck. It’s not enough to just touch him, he has to smell him, to hear those faint exhales, feel the rise and fall of the gangster’s chest against his. An arm curls around Gavin’s waist and holds him just as tightly.

 

“Fuck, I missed you,” Gavin whispers, his voice shaking.

 

And he doesn’t just mean this past week.

 

“I know,” Nines says, quietly.

 

His right cheek rests against the side of Gavin’s head and, absently, he notes that whatever synthetic layer covers the mask feels similar to skin but is off enough that the longer it touches him, the less convinced he is it’s real. It’s almost distracting and it bothers Gavin that Nines feels as if he has to hide his face but he also remembers how hurt Nines had been when Gavin had mocked him for it. It’s important to Nines so Gavin buries his discomfort.

 

As he pulls back, he looks up into Nines’ eyes, touches his right cheek. Nines flinches subconsciously at the contact before his expression relaxes and he allows Gavin to stroke his thumb over the synthetic skin.

 

“So, uh, what’s the occasion?”

 

Nines smiles. “I was feeling sentimental. It has been a year. I was also hoping we would have better luck with warehouses than hotels.”

 

He reaches behind Gavin for the case and places it in the detective’s hand. The tenderness in his voice leaves Gavin’s face heating and he hopes the candlelight is low enough to hide his blush.

 

One year.

 

His eyes drop to the case he’s holding. He opens it carefully, half-afraid he’ll destroy the material covering the outer layer. Just the case alone feels more expensive than his god damn car.

 

He’s rendered speechless as he sees what’s inside.

 

“I was uncertain of how to mark the occasion, so I felt a ‘peace-offering’ was in order after my poor behavior towards that creature that resides in your apartment,” Nines says and Gavin can’t even be annoyed at the gangster for talking about Socks as if he’s some rat that sneaked in from off the street. He’s too busy staring at the pendant shaped as a cat’s head, the name _SOCKS_ scrawled in a fancy font, not quite believing Nines got this for him.

 

“It is pure platinum that I had custom-made to replace that atrocious name tag you have your cat wearing,” Nines continues. He gently lifts it and the tiny bell attached to it jingles, turns it so Gavin can see his own name and contact information on the other side. “I have also included a bell so I can be forewarned if your pet ever attempts to rub against my legs again. I will not have it getting its fur all over my suits.”

 

Nines acts very put off, even going as far as to scrunch his nose, but Gavin’s so fucking touched by the gesture, he doesn’t know if he has the ability to respond.

 

_Say it._

 

There are only three words that matter in this moment and he’s fucking choking on them.

 

“Nines...”

 

His voice wavers with emotion, too afraid to utter them, his fear of having Nines break the thin trust between them holding him back. It doesn’t matter that he feels them as fervently now as he’s ever had, he also knows the sting of Nines’ cruelty as intimately as he knows the gangster’s tenderness. And if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure if he’s ready to submit emotionally and leave himself vulnerable to the gangster like that when there’s still so much between them that needs to be resolved.

 

Nines senses his hesitation and though there is sadness in his eyes, a regret that Gavin has to believe is genuine, there is no judgment in his voice. He drops the name tag back in the case. “I do not expect anything from you, Gavin. You do not have to say anything. I only ask that you let me make up for everything I have done to you and...Socks.”

 

He’s including Socks in this. He’s fucking _trying_ and there’s still a ways to go but all this feels so _right_ that Gavin can only focus on what matters right now.

 

He closes the case and places it in his jean pocket. Grasping the lapels of Nines’ coat, Gavin tugs so that the gangster’s face is level with his, his lips a whisper away. “Got any other ideas on how to make it up to me?”

 

Nines crushes their lips together, the voracity of which he kisses Gavin forcing the detective back against the table. It rattles against his weight, his legs spreading so Nines can slot between them, the gangster’s persistent tongue sliding between his parted lips. With a moan, Gavin caresses his tongue, relents as Nines licks at the roof of his mouth. Blood flows below his waist as their kissing grows more desperate, Nines hands wandering appreciatively over the muscles resting beneath Gavin’s shirt, Gavin grinding against the gangster’s thigh. The weight of the table at his back reminds him of the position he’d been in the last time he was here and how much he’s aching for history to repeat itself.

 

“I love you, Gavin,” Nines moans against his lips, his voice hitching with emotion. He shudders as he rocks his hips against Gavin’s, the table shaking against their weight. Making such confessions in the state they’re in should minimize the meaning of his words but it somehow enhances them and never has Gavin heard Nines so simultaneously vulnerable and aching for him. “Darling, I love you so much.”

 

He’s soon kissing the detective’s neck, mouthing at recently bruised flesh and marking it once again. Gavin’s fingers grip the back on Nines’ head, a low groan spilling from his lips as he cranes his neck to give the gangster better access. So consumed is he by the way Nines’ mouth feels on his skin that he barely hears the odd creaking until Nines goes completely still.

 

“...babe?”

 

“Were you followed here?” Nines whispers, his gray eyes darting to the open door.

 

Gavin strains to hear, a chill creeping down his spine. It sounds as if someone’s moving in the storage area.

 

“No fucking way did that asshole find me,” Gavin murmurs.

 

Nines stands to his full height, gun already in hand. He puts in the clip, takes the safety off, a troubled frown on his lips. The shift is immediate and it’s clear from the look in his eyes that whoever disturbed them is about the face his wrath.

 

Gavin tries not to shudder.

 

It doesn’t matter that Nines has killed some of the worst scum Gavin’s had the misfortune of dealing with, men who are so trigger happy and ruthless, they most likely would have been gunned down anyway. It still fills him with discomfort whenever he sees Nines like this.

 

“Stay here,” Nines commands, quietly.

 

But Gavin’s got a better idea. “Gimme that.”

 

He takes Nines by surprise, yanking the gun from his hands. His own firearm’s back in his car but at least he’s got his badge on him.

 

“Gavin, what are you—?”

 

“DPD!” Gavin calls out, gun aimed in front of him as he strolls into the main storage area. “You’re trespassing on private property! Hands up where I can see ‘em!”

 

He scans the room in front of him, squinting into the darkness. Shadows from the candle light dance on the surfaces of the old crates but as far as he can tell, he’s alone.

 

“Final warning!” he tries again, stepping cautiously towards the nearest crates. “Come out where I can see you!”

 

Heart pounding, he peeks over the crate. Nothing.

 

He feels Nines near him, the gangster huffing with impatience. “If you are finished giving away our position, I would like my—ugh!”

 

With a cry of pain, Nines falls to his knees, clutching at his head. The synthetic skin retracts, leaving the off-white metal of the mask. At his temple, there’s a rapid, angry blinking of red and the gangster’s practically clawing at his own hair.

 

“Nines!” Gavin says, crouching down and having no fucking idea what in the hell to do. “The fuck’s wrong?!”

 

“M-make...it...stop…!” the gangster grunts out, each labored word hitching.

 

“For the record, I hardly think it’s trespassing if I own the place,” someone says.

 

Footsteps click purposefully on the concrete floor and Gavin’s back on his feet, gun pointed in the direction of the sound. Slowly, the smirking face of Elijah Kamski steps into the nearest source of light, a small device with a flat touch screen in his hand. His thumb is pressed to the screen and the detective makes the connection. Gavin’s gun clicks in warning.

 

“Not another fucking step!” Gavin demands. “Whatever the fuck it is you’re doing, you better stop or I’m putting a bullet in your god damn face!”

 

“Drop the gun, detective.”

 

“Fuck you!”

 

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

 

Gavin glances to his left and right and realizes, with a cold, sinking dread, that he’s surrounded. At least five other men, all with their weapons trained on him, have emerged from where they were hiding. His grip on the gun doesn’t waver.

 

“Stop this shit now!” he demands once more, his voice hitching with panic as Nines curls up on the floor. In the dim lighting, Gavin sees blood dribbling from the gangster’s ear, his fingers scraping at his skull as if he’s trying to claw something out.

 

“I’m giving you one more chance to disarm,” Kamski says, a sick note of mirth in his voice. “Trust me, Detective: you don’t want to see what will happen if this goes on any longer.”

 

Unable to bear the sight of Nines being tortured, Gavin places his gun on the ground with a sneer. When another few seconds pass and the pain seems to get worse for Nines, his movements getting more frantic, Gavin snaps, “I did what you asked, fucking stop already!”

 

“Kick the gun this way.”

 

Gavin immediately complies and, much to his relief, Kamski removes his thumb from the screen of his device. Nines stops trying to tear at his own flesh, curled up on his elbows and knees as he breathes heavily, blood trickling from both his ears. Gavin wants to fall to his knees, take the shaking gangster in his arms but the warning click of one of the guns leaves him standing there helpless.

 

Kamski indicates to one of his cronies, who shuffles hesitantly forward and bends down to take the gun. Without the shadows to disguise him, Gavin can see the vicious scars on his face.

 

_Ralph._

 

“A neat little device I had Chloe help engineer,” Kamski comments, with bemusement. “Do you know it not only tracks the GPS signal given off by your implant, but it also releases a high pitch frequency only your implant can detect? Fascinating what we can do with technology.”

 

“You’re fucking sick!” Gavin snaps, hands clenched at his sides. He wants nothing more than to lunge at that asshole and punch the smirk off his face but he wouldn’t make it more than three steps with the amount of guns on him. “You put a fucking tracking device in his head?!”

 

“A necessary precaution,” Kamski says, his shoes clicking on the floor as he paces contemplatively. “His loyalty has been in question for some time now. I needed some way of keeping him in line so I offered him something I knew he wouldn’t refuse.”

 

Nines chuckles bitterly, his voice straining as he tries to pick himself up. “And here I thought you had done this out of the kindness of your hea—ugh!”

 

Nines falls back to his knees with a grunt of pain.

 

“Stay down!” Kamski barks, his thumb lingering on the device. “Don’t touch him, Detective, or my men will shoot him!”

 

Gavin cusses under his breath, stopping mid crouch. He carefully stands to his full height and takes a cautious step away from Nines, swallowing a relieved sound when Kamski finally stops. He really wishes he hadn’t given up that gun, couldn’t give two shits if every asshole in here shot him: dying would be worth putting a bullet in that prick’s skull.

 

“I was willing to forgive your little _diversions_ with Detective Reed,” Kamski says, pausing mid stride to glare contemptuously at the gangster. “While I gave you explicit orders to stay away from him, you _did_ take out the people who were targeting him. And you had ordered him not to get involved, advice that he _should_ have listened to. He is quite stubborn...a family trait.”

 

The detective is taken aback by the remark, not sure what Kamski’s playing at. Gavin never had a family so what in the fuck is he talking about?

 

“Like I was gonna let you or that prick Zlatko get away with carving up the streets like it’s a god damn pie in your fucking turf war!” Gavin sneers. “Being a billionaire getting boring, Eli? You get your rocks off poisoning half the city with that shit you guys are making?”

 

Kamski looks more than a little amused at the nickname, even as Nines flicks his gaze in warning at Gavin, silently commanding him to _shut the fuck up_. “While I appreciate your candor, Reed, I’m in the middle of disciplining one of my men. I will only warn you once _not_ to get involved.”

 

When his thumb slides over the device, Gavin snaps his mouth shut, even as his eyes burn with hatred for the asshole.

 

“As I was saying...I was willing to look the other way. But then, when you didn’t report in last Saturday, I got... _concerned._ ” Gavin has to snort back a laugh, doubting the crime lord is capable of giving a shit about anyone else. “So I thought to make use of another of Chloe’s clever little features and heard the most remarkable thing.”

 

Gavin tenses as Kamski touches the opposite corner of the screen and begins playing an audio file. He startles as he hears Zlatko’s voice: _“What, exactly, are you offering me?”_

 

From the corner of his eye, Gavin sees Nines pale as his recorded response echoes in the room. _“Information. Anything you want to know. I can tell you locations to all of Kamski’s private residences and pass codes to get into each of them. If you want your revenge, go to its source. I will provide you with all you need to strike back at him.”_

 

“That LED at your temple isn’t only a ‘mood ring’,” Kamski explains. “It processes auditory information. All I have to do is tap this application and I can listen in to whatever filth you say when I’m not there.”

 

He strides over to Nines, looms over the gangster, a dark expression twisting his features. Gavin tenses, ready to lunge at the asshole if he so much as touches Nines but then he’s being grappled from behind, tugged forcefully back from the pair. He struggles but whoever’s got him has an iron grip and way more mass on him. A glance over his shoulder and he sees it’s the asshole who had been following him.

 

“Don’t fucking touch him, you piece of shit!” Gavin shouts, heart thumping wildly as Kamski withdraws his gun.

 

Kamski grabs Nines by the hair, drags him a few paces forward on his knees. He ignores Gavin, yanks Nines head back and glares down at him. “How easily you turned on me! I gave you _everything._ For 12 _fucking_ years! And this is how you fucking repay me?!”

 

Gavin’s fighting to get out of the thug’s grip but it’s no use. He’s forced to watch helplessly as Kamski kicks Nines onto his back, aims his gun at the gangster’s forehead. Anyone else would be cowering but Nines glowers up at his boss with an angry scowl on his lips.

 

“You want to kill me? Then take the shot! For once in your pathetic life, get your own hands dirty!”

 

Red swirls at the gangster’s temple as Kamski delivers a vicious kick to the side of Nines’ face. The gangster rolls to his side and spits blood at the crime boss’ feet, earning himself another kick in the chest.

 

“It would be so fucking easy to end your miserable life,” Kamski says, laughing as the gangster attempts to stand. He then aims his gun and fires, the sound burying Gavin’s cry of outrage. Nines grunts out in pain, collapsing back down and clutching his bleeding, right hand. With the device once more in hand, Kamski activates it and watches with glee as Nines begins to writhe on the warehouse floor.

 

“I could kill you now, but where’s the fun in that? You _will_ die but I will make every last moment slow and wretched until you’re begging me to pull the trigger. I will do _worse_ to you than you did to Murphy, I can promise you that, my dear Nines.”

 

Gavin stops struggling, deflates and watches in horror as Nines stops writhing, the gangster panting and holding his bleeding hand against his chest. His eyes well as he sees his lover in pain, the last of his bravado slipping. With his voice cracking, throat hoarse from his shouting, Gavin begs, “Please...don’t kill him. I...I’ll do anything.”

 

With an exaggerated sigh, Kamski pockets the device. “Your affection for him is... _touching_. However, you have to understand, Detective, that business is business. And right now, I’m setting an example for anyone else who tries to fuck me over. Speaking of that.”

 

Kamski’s glares pointedly at one of his men, singling him out from the rest. “Ralph, come here a moment.”

 

The gangster’s eyes widen fearfully, Ralph cowering as he shuffles hesitantly forward. He keeps his head down and it’s clear that he’s petrified of Kamski, nearly trips over his own feet.

 

“ _You_ were supposed to report in on Nines’ activities,” Kamski says, his tone condescending, as if he’s scolding a toddler. “Why the fuck didn’t you mention the detective?”

 

As the crime lord’s tone takes a sharp edge, Ralph visibly flinches, as if each word cuts more scars into his face. He begins to tremble. “R-Ralph did what he—what he thought he was supposed to. Ralph followed orders! R-Ralph wasn’t trying to make anyone mad! Ralph—!”

 

Kamski strikes Ralph across the face with the handle of his gun, the gangster falling to his hands and knees with a cry. Blood trickles from the fresh wound cutting into his scars and Ralph clutches at his face to shield himself from another blow.

 

With his gun pressed to Ralph’s head, Kamski snaps, “You work for _me_! If you think I’m going to let you get away with lying to me…!”

 

His finger curls around the trigger—

 

Nines snorts indignantly. “You r-really believe that fucking idiot is clever enough to trick you?”

 

Gavin stares at the gangster in shock. What the hell is Nines doing?!

 

Kamski’s eyes flicker suspiciously between Nines and Ralph. “What do you care if I kill this useless moron?”

 

“Care?” Nines says, with a cruel laugh. “Shoot him, if it will satisfy you. But did you ever explicitly tell him to report _any_ activity involving Detective Reed?”

 

“How could I when I wasn’t aware that _you_ had become involved with him again?” Kamski snaps at him.

 

“Then what sort of example will you be setting if you dispose of someone loyal to you who obviously had been unaware that I was violating the terms of our agreement?”

 

Kamski hesitates.

 

Gavin is surprised to see him contemplating what Nines has said. But then again, why should he be? Nines has done the same shit to him, talked him into whatever outcome the gangster desired. With his reputation, most assume Nines’ cruelty is his greatest weapon but actually, it’s his silver tongue.

 

“...one more chance,” Kamski decides, lowering his gun. “Next time you piss me off, your ‘idiocy’ won’t keep me from carving up the other side of your face and dumping you back on the street. Understood?”

 

Ralph nods numbly, rises carefully to his feet and slinks back into the shadows. Though it may just be a trick of the light, Gavin almost swears he sees a noticeable tension leave Nines. It mystifies him that Nines, who has always had a healthy dislike of Ralph, would even give a shit what Kamski does to him.

 

When Kamski turns his attention back on Nines, Gavin shouts, “H-hey, asshole! We’re not fucking done yet!”

 

“You’re right; we’re not,” Kamski says, with a wide smirk. He glances around the warehouse, wrinkles his nose at the scented candles places around the room. “The ambiance of this place is a bit of a mood killer. And I don’t have the instruments I need to make my _point._ I think it’s time we move this party to somewhere more suitable.”

 

Pulling Nines’ hair hard, he forces the bleeding gangster to stare up at him. Nines glares up at the crime boss with defiance, not at all letting Kamski intimidate him. His refusal to show fear has Gavin terrified that Kamski’s only gonna get angrier. “I’m taking you some place where _nobody_ will hear you scream.”

 

Releasing the gangster, Kamski begins snapping orders. “Ralph, Mitch. Tie this traitor up; make sure to check his pockets for any ‘tools’ he can use to escape. Finch, Jaws—bring Detective Reed out to my car. Him and I will be having a little ‘chat’ on the way.”

 

As Finch—or Jaws, who the fuck knows?—drags Gavin towards the exit, he yells over his shoulder, “You’re gonna fucking pay for this, Kamski, you cop-killing piece of shit! I know what you fucking did to Gonzales! I'm gonna stop you, even if it fucking kills me!!”

 

“Something tells me our 'chat' is about to get more interesting.”

 

The sound of Kamski’s laughter drifts away as Gavin’s forced out into the freezing night, the thug manhandling him now joined by someone equally as large and menacing. As they push him towards a vehicle waiting in the mostly empty street, Gavin’s eyes flicker all around him for something to help him get out of this. He’s got no idea what Kamski has in store for him but there’s no way he’s sticking around to find out.

 

Unable to maneuver himself out of Finch—or Jaws’—grip, Gavin’s eyes fall to the giant patch of ice covering the ground beneath them. He feels the thug behind him struggle to keep his balance and that’s when Gavin forces the balls of his feet to slide forward. His sudden loss of balance takes the gangster by surprise and both of them go crashing to the ground.

 

Gavin hits the left side of his hip hard and grunts out in pain. But he has no time to think, rolls from the slippery surface and scrambles to his feet. The asshole who had been holding him slips once more with a loud cuss but the other one’s already bounding over, careful to avoid the ice. Though his side burns, Gavin shoulder checks the other thug hard enough to send him back and tripping over his friend. Ignoring the pain, Gavin sprints in the direction that’ll take him back into the city.

 

From behind him, he hears a lot of shouting and cursing, soon followed by footsteps hot on his trail. This part of the ‘burbs is run down, with abandoned homes, dilapidated storehouses and duplexes, and broken down, outdated vehicles lining the streets. Gavin weaves his way from the main road into an alley, slides and nearly falls on yet more ice. His heart pounding, panting heavily and ribs screaming with the abuse he’s putting them through, he runs through the pain and turns a corner just as he hears his pursuers come into the alley. He slips into the crumbling, old apartment on his right, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass, and quietly ventures inside.

 

The place is abandoned and has been for some time, looking more like an old crack house than a place anyone would wanna call ‘home’. His shoes creak on the old boards, breath condensing in thick streams of white in front of his face and he carefully makes for one of the first floor units, intent on hiding out until he can be sure he’s shaken them.

 

As he creeps into one of the rooms to hide, he hears a muffled voice from where he’d just come. “Think he went this way.”

 

_Fuck!_

 

Gavin’s exhausted. He’s in extreme pain and his lungs are ready to explode. But he knows if he stays, they’ll find him.

 

So he goes to the nearest window, crawls through it as quietly as he can, holding back a cry when glass cuts into his thigh. Once his feet hit solid ground, he’s wasting no time to catch his breath and runs up the street, ducking behind old cars and anything that can hide him along the way.

 

He runs and he runs. Old, abandoned neighborhoods bleed into new residential housing, large yards and white picket fences. The American fucking Dream.

 

The below freezing temperatures makes every lungful of air he breathes in prick his insides like a thousand needles but Gavin doesn’t stop, though he’s so weary that his running is barely even a jog. His shaking, sweaty hand pulls his phone from his pocket and he pulls up the one person he should have called when all this shit started, the only one he knows will be willing to help him.

 

Panting so heavily, he doubts he’d even be able to have a coherent conversation, he dials. It rings. And rings. And rings.

 

_C’mon, asshole. Pick up,_ he silently begs.

 

He tries again. It rings and it rings.

 

Having no luck, he’s forced to call one of those stupid taxis again. If the asshole won’t answer his fucking phone, Gavin’s just gonna have to go to him.

 

Satisfied that he’s lost Kamski’s thugs, Gavin collapses onto a bench and tries to regain his breath. He’s bleeding from his leg, vision swimming from how tired he is, his ribs and hip burning. But though his body is physically ready to throw in the towel, his mind races in a frantic panic, playing over and over again the torture he witnessed Nines endure at Kamski’s hands.

 

_Please hold on, babe,_ Gavin pleads in his head, feeling tears cloud his eyes, _I’m coming back for you. I promise._

 

More than anything, he wants to give into the shaking in his chest, to break down and indulge that despair that echoes in his mind. But he knows that he _can’t_ , that the only way he’s gonna get Nines back is by keeping a clear head.

 

Every fucking second _counts_. And he can’t waste precious time being an inconsolable mess.

 

It takes energy he’s surprised he has to throw himself into the taxi when it arrives. The drive isn’t too long and the one thing he can be grateful for is that if there had been a driver, he doesn’t doubt his appearance would have invited questions he doesn’t want to answer, maybe even some concerned prodding to bring him to the nearest hospital. The cold, impersonal nature of an AI means that Gavin can at least get to where he needs to go in record time since the fucking thing isn’t programmed to give a shit about him.

 

Once he’s at his destination, he has to drag himself up the steps of the porch, is all but ready to collapse then and there. There’s the sound of a TV coming from inside, playing one of those old comic book films Gavin’s seen more than a dozen times. The corner of his lip pulls a small, sad smile and he realizes, with a dull throb, that some things never change.

 

Before he can even touch the doorbell, the loud sound of barking comes from within, the clicking of paws on hardwood bounding to the door. That’s when Gavin hears _his_ voice, softly admonishing the dog, and it’s been so easy to be angry—to be bitter and hurt and blame all the rest of the world for the shit he did—that Gavin’s forgotten how much he’s missed him.

 

“Gav?” Connor says, surprised and slightly mistrustful as he opens the door, blocking the way in so Sumo won’t run out.

 

An immediate change comes over him, his brown eyes widening when he sees Gavin clutching at his chest, trembling and sweating, even though it’s freezing out.

 

“What happened?”

 

It takes a moment for Gavin to find his voice and he sways on his feet, Connor throwing open the door to keep Gavin from crashing into it. His strong arms grip him and Gavin all but falls against the lieutenant’s chest, Sumo whining as he noses Gavin’s side. His voice hoarse, Gavin utters, “C-Con, y-you gotta help him. Y-you gotta—”

 

“Help who?”

 

But Connor doesn’t need to hear Gavin’s answer, has only to look at the panic etched on Gavin’s face and he just _knows._

 

“Nines! Kamski’s gonna kill him!”

 

And upon hearing Connor’s fears confirmed, the color drains from the lieutenant’s face.


	10. Bury A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin seeks Connor's help to save Nines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I think I'm committing to 14 chapters. The current one I'm writing is already going long but I have decided that I will just take more time, if needed, to edit it instead of breaking it up into two chapters. This fic has already gone longer than I had wanted. I am also about to get super busy for the next month and will be away every weekend from mid-August to mid-September so updates *might* start coming a bit later. If that does happen, please don't panic: about 90% of what's left is already written. It's simply that I haven't had the time to edit that is delaying the updates. 
> 
> Some shout outs to more awesome readers who have helped keep me motivated: [SupremeMeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupremeMeme/pseuds/SupremeMeme), [OptimisticallyConfused](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticallyConfused/pseuds/OptimisticallyConfused), [Live4StarWars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Live4StarWars/pseuds/Live4StarWars), [buvbly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buvbly/pseuds/buvbly), [vegemite_sandwiches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegemite_sandwiches/pseuds/vegemite_sandwiches), and [jaysus_2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaysus_2/pseuds/jaysus_2). Some of you are new to this series and it means so much to me that you gave it a shot and have stuck around. All of you are wonderful and I hope this means you'll be staying around for the rest of this crazy ride <3\. If I missed anyone, I am really sorry ^^;;;. I will try and thank everyone as best as I can until this series finishes :D
> 
> Not many new tags this week, though I am going to change the Archive Warnings because I stupidly forgot to do that in the more graphic chapters. For the most part, this chapter will have its moments of levity until the plot comes back to smack Gavin across the face. I may have led you to believe that Kamski is his worst nemesis but actually, it's that nasty plot that enjoys making him suffer.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Gavin’s thrumming with impatience as he sits in the dining room chair, body damaged and weary but mind sharp, running on the last fumes of his adrenaline. Sumo’s head is on his thigh—the one not covered with dried blood—and the St. Bernard’s whining as he stares up at Gavin with his big, soulful eyes. To distract himself, Gavin’s been running his shaky fingers through the dog’s warm fur but it fails to calm his nerves and he soon finds himself snapping, “You gonna hurry the fuck up, Con?!”

 

From somewhere within the house, he hears Connor shuffling around, looking for Hank’s— _their—_ medical kit and fuck it’s still weird to think of Connor and Hank together but if Connor’s affection for Sumo has taught Gavin anything, it’s that his ex-partner has a soft spot for big, dumb animals. That’s why it never worked between them—Gavin prefers murderous assholes who get themselves captured because they can’t stay the fuck out of trouble and fucking Christ, why did that vain prick ever agree to that stupid head chip, why did he—

 

Gavin’s eyes well and he sniffles pitifully, cold tendrils of dread curling around his insides.

 

Nines is gonna die. He’s gonna die because Gavin’s fucking useless and was dumb enough to waste time running to Connor. He should have gone back in there for him, he should have—

 

Sumo digs his wet nose into the palm of the detective’s hand as if to say, _Don’t be sad!_

 

Gavin releases a slow exhale and pets the dog.

 

“I told Hank to stop leaving things in the garage,” Connor quietly complains, coming back into the room and setting the kit on the table. With Hank gone to a police convention in Lansing for the weekend, Connor had been left to run things at the station. Gavin’s not sure if this is a blessing in disguise: on the one hand, getting Hank to help them would make things easier. However, Hank’s too much of a straight arrow to not throw Nines in a holding cell and keep him for interrogation after the rescue. If anything, they’re on their own.

 

Connor’s fingers are trembling as he opens the kit and it’s clear that he’s just as anxious as Gavin. “Gav, you’ll need to remove your pants if I’m gonna look at that wound.”

 

“Fuck sakes, Con, there’s no time for—!”

 

“Gavin!” Connor snaps, his voice hitching on the second syllable. The distress is painted all over his face as the lieutenant struggles to hold himself together. “Could you not be difficult for _once_!”

 

With a grumble, Gavin painfully stands to his feet, unbuckles his jeans, and pulls them down low enough to expose the cut. The two fall into an uncomfortable silence, which stretches for minutes that feel more like an eternity: Connor, only just managing to keep it together as he sets to work pouring alcohol onto a cleaning pad, Gavin by scratching behind Sumo’s ear. The detective can’t even be embarrassed about standing around in his underwear in Hank’s house, his mind returning to Nines every few seconds.

 

He hisses as Connor starts cleaning the wound. He wants to make some snide comment but isn’t brave enough to break the silence, half convinced that he will crack the second he tries to say anything. Connor is the one who ends it first.

 

“I still can’t get you to go to the emergency room.”

 

“You know I hate those places,” Gavin grumbles, though he actually has gone a few times, usually when Tina drags him there. But even with health care, if he lets Connor take him, they’d go, wait to get treated, endure the bullshit of an aftercare lecture and prescriptions and before they know it, they’d have wasted 2 or 3 hours that could have been spent going to find Nines.

 

“How did you injure your leg?”

 

“Crawled through a broken window. Hurt like a bitch.”

 

Connor sighs in a way that says he’s not surprised Gavin would do something so reckless.

 

Gavin has to bite his lip when he feels the needle pierce his skin. He still ends up swallowing a pained grunt as Connor carefully threads the needle through the gash on Gavin’s upper right thigh. Sumo is there for moral support, which the detective gratefully accepts.

 

“I need you to tell me everything that’s happened,” Connor says.

 

So Gavin does. He starts with Zlatko and the broken deal, leaving nothing out. While Connor attentively works away at closing his wound, lines visible on the lieutenant’s face whenever Gavin mentions the shit they’d been through, even the detective doesn’t miss how upset he’s getting. But Connor’s always been better at keeping his cool, can keep a level head when shit goes sideways, and grudgingly, Gavin has to admit it’s why he’s the one that got the promotion.

 

With the wound sutured and bandaged, Gavin tugs his jeans back up. “—and that fucker’s been using his god damn head chip to track him! That’s how he fucking found us!”

 

“Wait...so whatever implant Rich received can give off a signal and detect high frequencies that you’re saying Kamski’s using to torture him?” Connor says, giving Gavin an odd look. “Gav...that’s a bit...”

 

“Yeah, it’s fucking weird, I get that. But you gotta believe me! He’s got this weird circling thing that’s been recording all the shit he’s saying and—and fucking whatever, Kamski knows Nines tried to sell him out to Zlatko so he’s gonna fucking kill him!”

 

That strange look on Connor’s face dissipates as Gavin’s voice cracks. If Connor thinks he’s off his rocker, he hopes the lieutenant will at least believe that Nines is in danger.

 

With an angry huff, Connor closes the kit harder than he intended. “I told him _not_ to get involved with Kamski! I told him that years ago when Kamski was trying to get Rich to do drug runs for him. But did he listen? Of course he didn’t!”

 

“Yeah, pretty sure getting pissed about it now’s not gonna help,” Gavin snaps, bristling as he comes to his lover’s defense. Gavin’s heard this fucking self-righteous kind of lecture from Connor more times than he can count, usually directed at him. “You gonna spend all night bitching about his shitty life choices or you gonna help me get him back?”

 

“If you had a brother as stubborn and infuriating as mine, you’d understand why I’m so upset!” Connor snaps back. But from the tremor in his voice, Gavin can tell Connor’s hiding his distress behind his anger so the detective deflates a little. “We’ll need to figure out where Kamski took him. I can always murder Rich later for his poor choice of ‘friends’.”

 

In spite of the severity of the situation, Gavin can’t help but smirk. He never expected Connor to be overprotective of his twin.

 

“He said it’s some place where no one can hear him scream.”

 

“That...is not that helpful.

 

“Not saying it’s helpful, just telling you what he said.”

 

Connor sighs in exasperation, pacing a few steps between the dining room and the kitchen. His brows furrow in concentration. “Can you think of anything else? Something that Kamski may have inferred or alluded to?”

 

Gavin leans back against the table, arms folded over his chest. He tries not to visibly wince at the pressure he puts on his ribs, half afraid that Connor will force him to sit this one out if he thinks Gavin’s too injured to tag along. Gavin’s determined to go back for Nines and see that asshole Kamski get just what he deserves.

 

He thinks. He knows Kamski has his condos and penthouses but even if he owns a building, Gavin doubts the asshole would run the risk of dragging Nines into one of those places. Cyberlife warehouses have been popping up all over the city but there are so many, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Then, he recalls something Kamski had said in the interview last week.

 

“He said something about moving production from older warehouses to newer facilities. Some of those places are getting shut down.”

 

“That may help us.” Suddenly, Connor brightens. “You remember when we first opened the Kamski investigation a year and a half ago? This was before thirium hit the market. Cyberlife hadn’t gone public yet—”

 

“—and you made me spend fucking days staking out all those god damn warehouses,” Gavin finishes. “Nine fucking day of that bullshit. Back then, _Cyberlife_ was just a front for whatever drugs they were making in those dumps.”

 

“Right! The three facilities we narrowed it down to were in areas with abandoned properties, places where there would be nobody around to draw attention to what ‘Cyberlife’ was really up to!”

 

Excitedly, Connor rushes to the living room, returning moments later with his laptop. He sets it on the table and begins browsing case files. “These are the three properties – the one on the harbor front, this one on the east side, and the one in Southgate.”

 

“The one on the harbor front’s beside a crime scene. Kamski’s got his share of scumbags at the Sixth but not all of them’re playing ball. No way he’d bring Nines through there,” Gavin says. He scrutinizes the map. “The one in Southgate’s where we were earlier. If he’s serious ‘bout his threat, the prick’s gotta be taking Nines to the east side.”

 

It’s a shot in the dark since Gavin’s assuming Kamski’s gonna want to be somewhere discreet if he’s gonna carry on torturing Nines. But it’s the best they’ve got and if Nines is there and Gavin wastes any more time deducing other possible locations...he doesn’t want to think of the most likely outcome.

 

“We’ll check it out but we need a plan, Gav,” Connor says, typing the address into his phone. “One that you have to _promise_ you’ll follow. We won’t be going in with back up and I’m not going to let you do something to get yourself killed.”

 

“Christ, Con, you say it as if I never follow the fucking plan,” Gavin grumbles.

 

Connor gives him a nonplussed look.

 

“...fuck, fine, whatever. I _promise_ to follow your fucking plan.”

 

“Good. The first thing we’ll need to do is stake out the property. We have the blueprints you requested back when you were on the case so that will comes in handy.” Connor opens a different file, bringing up the floor plan of the building. “There are three entrances—here, here, and here. This side entrance connects to a small hallway leading away from the main storage area; it might be our best way in. How many were with Kamski tonight?”

 

“Five of ‘em. Most of them had at least 50 pounds of muscle on me,” Gavin adds.

 

Connor frowns. “If all these entrances are heavily guarded, or if there’s more...we might have no choice but to call this in.”

 

“Fuck that! You know they’re gonna toss Nines in holding and if we bring in Kamski, I bet you that fucking slime ball’s gonna throw Nines under the bus! All that asshole needs to do is bring in one of his fancy lawyers and Nines is fucked!”

 

Gavin’s seen it too often to know how the system favors the powerful and he’s willing to stake his own cat that Kamski will manage to get some sweet plea deal or dump everything on Nines.

 

“If it’s a choice between my brother spending his life in prison or dying, you know what I’m going to do,” Connor says, a pained look coming to his eyes. He swallows heavily, looks away from the detective and Gavin recognizes that expression: guilt. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him...but I won’t pretend that if we have to call back up and Rich ends up in prison, it won’t be undeserved. He’s done terrible things.”

 

Gavin tries to push the images from his mind: bloodied hands, decapitated heads, and unseeing eyes. He can’t even be sure which were from his nightmares and which he had witnessed with his own eyes—the horrors his mind inflicts on him as he sleeps have now blended into reality.

 

He doesn’t like to think of the things he’s seen Nines do and it’s so easy to forget all of that when Nines’ lips are worshiping his skin. But he can’t deny Connor is wrong.

 

“...we call it in only as a last fucking resort,” Gavin decides, though even that is a promise he’s very eager to break. The selfish side of him can’t bear the thought of Nines rotting away in a jail cell but even worse is the thought of him dying.

 

Satisfied, Connor goes into the living room and pulls out a magnum revolver stored on top of the bookshelf. He checks the gun and hands it to Gavin. “It’s loaded. Try not to lose it: it’s Hank’s favorite.”

 

“I’ll be extra careful,” the detective says, sarcastically.

 

“Gavin.”

 

Connor’s giving him _The Look_.

 

The detective rolls his eyes. “I won’t lose that asshole’s gun. Happy?”

 

“...I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to my husband as an ‘asshole’...”

 

“I call everyone ‘asshole’. Just cause you married him doesn’t mean he gets special treatment. You can’t win ‘em all, Con.”

 

“...why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret this?”

 

* * *

 

“I was right: I _do_ regret this.”

 

Gavin flicks though the station, switching it from the 2000s retro to classic rock. Connor sets his SWISH to automated driving and smacks the detective’s hand from the touch screen. “Will you stop that?”

 

“The music you listen to suuuucks.”

 

“It’s _my_ car, my music. You _never_ let me choose the music when we rode in your car.”

 

“Because you have shit taste. If you’d stop listening to garbage, I’d have let you listen to whatever the fuck you wanted.” Gavin glares but doesn’t attempt to switch the music back as Connor sets it to the previous station. “What is this teen bopper shit anyway?”

 

“For your information, Miss Spears’ ‘Toxic’ was an iconic song that—!”

 

“Did Hank get you into this shit?”

 

Connor colors. “I have preferences outside of Hank, Gav.”

 

Gavin eyes the outrageous tie Connor’s wearing. “Right...”

 

“...are you wearing _cologne_?” Connor accuses, a small smirk on his lips as blood fills Gavin’s cheeks. “I could _never_ get you to wear it when we were dating.”

 

“Yeah, well...maybe I like cologne now.”

 

“Rich used to say there’s nothing more irresistible than a man with the right cologne...”

 

“Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the fucking road?” Gavin grumbles, feeling the blush spread down to his neck as he crosses his arms. “Can’t always rely on a fucking computer to drive.”

 

“SWISH vehicles have been attributed for the dramatic reduction in road-related accidents in the greater Detroit area,” Connor points out. “I think we’re fine.”

 

“You a god damn SWISH Wikipedia page now?”

 

“It was in the year end report all officers received a few weeks ago!”

 

“...oh, that’s what that was?”

 

Gavin remembers getting it and shoving it to the bottom of the endless pile of reports Chau’s had him doing. What happened to it after, well…

 

Connor groans and drops his head to the steering wheel. “How in the hell does Rich endure this?”

 

“Hey! I’m fucking _charming!”_

 

“...that is _not_ the word I would use...”

 

“How much longer til we get there?”

 

Connor exhales slowly, as if summoning patience he no longer has. Removing one hand from the steering wheel, he indicates to the GPS. “3 miles.”

 

They fall into a silence laced with tension, the gravity of what they are about to walk into weighing heavily on their minds. At least when they were arguing over something as silly as music, Gavin could forget what Kamski’s probably doing to Nines.

 

He glances at the seat beside him, Connor driving once more. There’s a troubled look on the lieutenant’s face.

 

If this is the last time they get to be here like this, together, with some modicum of civility, Gavin wants to at least clear the air between them.

 

“Con,” he starts, pausing to lick his dry lips. “I, uh, I want you to know...”

 

“You don’t have to apologize, Gav.”

 

But he does.

 

“No, hear me out: you know I’m garbage at this,” Gavin continues. “Going behind your back with Nines was...well, it was really fucking shitty. You had every right to be pissed. Maybe you still are.”

 

“I...have had time to get used to the idea, as I suspected you would somehow end up back with him. I’m not exactly thrilled about it but it’s your life. This is normally the part where I would lecture you on violating your sworn oath as an officer of the law but after tonight, I have a feeling any criticism I direct at you would only make me a hypocrite.”

 

“Yeah, let’s not have the lecture.”

 

“You know what he is, as I do,” Connor says, quietly. “And like me, you can’t help but love him anyway.”

 

Gavin drops his hands in his lap, swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. He won’t confirm what Connor’s said but he doesn’t need to: his silence is confirmation enough. “I’m sorry, just so you know. For lying and shit.”

 

“I hadn’t been honest about Rich either, Gav. We both made mistakes.”

 

“But you were just trying to protect your family. A detective with an ex-con twin? The DPD would have had a fucking field day with that shit,” Gavin points out, knowing he would have used that info to be more of an asshole towards Connor in the early days of their partnership. Back then, Gavin had been incredibly jealous of how easily Connor was outshining him at crime scenes and was looking for any excuse to hate him. “Me? I was only protecting my own ass. Still so fucking selfish, even if it means hurting my best friend. You deserved a better partner.”

 

And he means that, in all the many things that word represents.

 

Connor’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly, a sad look on his face. The detective’s name cracks brokenly in the space between them and for once, Gavin hears the guilt—the _remorse_ for how they fell apart. “Gavin...”

 

The car stops.

 

Connor can’t even look at Gavin as he quietly composes himself. He clears his throat and with it, the tension that lingers between them. “We’re here.”

 

The warehouse up ahead is nothing remarkable, about as old and rundown as the handful of other buildings on the deserted street. It stands as an eerie relic of Detroit’s past, the flickering street lamps reflecting their dim lights off the snow. With the below freezing temperatures and the surrounding area containing the husks of once vibrant neighborhoods, there’s not a sound to be heard above that of the low wind whistling through the bare branches of trees.

 

“Remember what we said: we scout the place first,” Connor reminds Gavin, casting a hesitant look at the building ahead before getting out of the vehicle. Ignoring the bad feeling that’s begun to twist in his gut, Gavin follows.

 

They creep along carefully, walking right through the open gate and ducking behind a Cyberlife truck. The entire area is fenced in but there seems to be no staff, a few cars and only two Cyberlife trucks sitting in the parking lot. Connor peeks around the side of the truck and squints into the darkness.

 

“There’s someone standing guard at that entrance,” he whispers to Gavin.

 

Gavin pulls up the map of the building on his phone. He has to zoom in close because of the stupid water damage on the screen. Fuck, he really needs to replace it.

 

“This where you parked?”

 

Connor glances at the screen and nods. “If this is where they’re keeping Rich, we’ll want to go through that side entrance we talked about. Do you recognize the person guarding the door?”

 

He pulls out a small pair of binoculars from his coat pocket and hands them to Gavin. Gavin cranes his neck around Connor and uses the binoculars to get a good look at the man’s face.

 

“That’s the fucker who’s been stalking me. One of Kamski’s guys,” Gavin says, sneering. “The asshole was at the warehouse.”

 

“Then our hunch might be right. You stay here and watch him; message me if he moves from that spot. I’m going to see if there entrance we want is clear.”

 

“We can take this fucker! That door’s gotta be open if he’s guarding it,” Gavin hisses, feeling a sense of urgency now that he’s convinced Nines has to be here.

 

“We can’t risk it,” Connor argues, quietly. Gavin can tell the lieutenant is just as impatient as him but as always, he’s got to be the annoying voice of reason. “Gav...you _promised_ you’d follow the plan. _This_ is our best plan. You need to _stay put_. Don’t do anything stupid!”

 

He’s about to protest but snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

 

“I’ll scout ahead. It shouldn’t take too long. If I’m not back in 15 minutes, you call this in. Don’t try and come after me.”

 

“Con, c’mon, I’m not gonna—!”

 

“You call this _in_ , Gavin! Understood? There’s no point in both of us getting caught.”

 

The detective is not at all ready to keep that promise but he knows that the longer they argue, the less time they have to get to Nines. “...fine.”

 

Connor doesn’t look all that convinced but he accepts Gavin’s noncommittal response with a grim frown. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

Using the long shadow cast by the truck, Connor quietly slips away further onto the property, the barely lit parking area providing the perfect cover. To avoid having to dart his head around the truck, Gavin uses the camera on his phone to peer across the parking lot. The asshole seems to be looking at something on his phone, barely even looking up. Gavin doesn’t blame him: he’s probably freezing his balls off doing of the most boring jobs. But if Kamski’s got someone on guard duty, that prick’s gotta be expecting something.

 

Gavin’s breath condenses in long, smoke-like wisps and as he shivers, he can’t help but crave a cigarette. It would certainly help to calm his fucking nerves. But those, like his gun, are back in his car at the gym.

 

“The fuck’s taking you so long, Connor?” Gavin grumbles to himself.

 

As he glances back at his phone, his stomach drops.

 

Where the fuck did that asshole go?!

 

A gun clicking to his side gives him the answer.

 

“You are one slippery cop,” the thug says, a wide grin on his face as Gavin slowly turns towards him. “Gotta be honest: didn’t think you’d come back. Not after you gave us the slip.”

 

“What can I say? It just wouldn’t be a great night if I wasn’t being fucking stalked, thought I’d come back for more,” Gavin answers, sarcastically. “You’re pretty shit at it, you know. Shouldn’t you be fucking around in the shadows or some shit?”

 

“You think you’re that damn funny.”

 

A shadow falls behind the thug. Gavin smirks. “Oh, I’m fucking _hilarious_.”

 

With a loud SMACK, the thug crumples to the ground, his gun flying from his hand. He’s out cold.

 

From where he had been standing, Connor looms over the knocked out gangster, holstering his gun. Gavin’s about to make some quip but the deadly glare the lieutenant’s wearing has him rethinking his snark.

 

“You had _one_ job, Gav! _One!_ ”

 

“You saying the plan’s not ‘I distract, you attack’?”

 

If looks could kill, Connor’s glare would have murdered Gavin ten times by now.

 

With an angry huff, Connor picks up the thug’s semi-automatic pistol and empties the magazine. He keeps it and tosses the gun back to the ground. “The other entrances are unguarded. We should have no problem getting in.

 

“And for the record,” and Gavin preps himself for what is most likely to be a lecture he can live without, “if the plan is ‘you distract, I attack’, then that would make me Batman.” 

 

With a smirk, Connor heads the way he had been scouting.

 

“...I’m not fucking Robin!” Gavin complains, trailing after him.

 

“No, you _are_ Robin.”

 

_Asshole thinks he’s so fucking clever,_ Gavin thinks, scowling as he shuffles after his ex-partner. Grudgingly, he has to admit that he has been missing _this_ at the Sixth Precinct.

 

It doesn’t take long to reach the side entrance. Though Connor had said it’s not guarded, Gavin still expects them to run into some sort of trouble because nothing’s ever this fucking easy. But there’s no one else outside and as they cautiously peer through the small, blurry window on the door, they can see no one walking in the poorly lit hallway.

 

“You get the feeling this is too fucking simple?” Gavin mutters, exchanging a look with Connor as he takes a step back from the door.

 

“If what Kamski has stated is true, this facility is no longer supposed to be active,” Connor answers. “There’s no point in keeping it guarded if production has moved somewhere else.”

 

Gavin’s still uneasy but he can’t really argue with that logic. He tries the handle of the door, jiggles it a few times, but finds it locked. Hmm. Not as simple as he thought.

 

“Here, let me.”

 

Connor pulls out a small wallet-like kit, scrutinizes the lock, and takes the tool most likely to open it. Gavin’s seen Connor do this a few times over the years and whenever he questioned the lieutenant about this skill, Connor was always dismissive. Now, though, he’s got a good idea where Connor picked up this particular talent.

 

“Nines teach you that?”

 

The lock clicks and an almost sad, wistful smile comes to the lieutenant’s face. “He taught me this after he got out of prison, back when I was at the academy. He said if I was going to throw my life away, he may as well teach me something useful.”

 

“Never one to sugarcoat it, huh?”

 

“He has his... _opinions_ when it comes to law enforcement.”

 

Connor tries the door and it opens with a small creak. Gavin freezes at the sound, expecting someone to suddenly appear in the hallway. With bated breath, both the detectives stare ahead into the passage and only release that breath they’re holding when they’re convinced the coast is clear.

 

“Let’s try not to draw any attention to ourselves,” Connor whispers, giving Gavin a pointed look as he squeezes through the door.

 

Gavin makes an indignant sound, shimmying through with less grace than the lieutenant. “C’mon, Con, you say it as if I always—”

 

Without anyone holding open the heavy door, it slams loudly behind him.

 

The detective flinches at the noise. Connor, meanwhile, gives him an incredulous look and gestures in exasperation between him and the door. Gavin shrugs, sheepishly.

 

“You hear that?” someone says, their voice carrying around the corner up ahead.

 

“Better check it out.”

 

Connor and Gavin stare at each other in panic. The lieutenant is the first to recover and points to a door left slightly ajar halfway down the hallway.

 

Moving as quietly and swiftly as they can, the two make for that room, each stride bringing them closer to the footsteps echoing from up ahead. Any moment now, two of Kamski’s henchmen will be rounding that corner and Gavin’s hand is already inching towards his sheathed firearm. They risk alerting everyone in here of their presence if he’s got to use it but they’re quickly running out of options.

 

Connor’s through the door first and he hastily tugs Gavin inside, shutting the door with a quiet ‘click’. Immediately, they are submerged in pitch darkness, the only thing Gavin can be sure of is Connor standing beside him, the lieutenant’s fingers still gripping the detective’s coat. The sound of loud footfalls resound in the hallway, stopping just outside the door. His heart pounding wildly in his chest, Gavin attempts to slow his exhales, each passing of breath between his lips echoing like a foghorn in his head. They wait, the muffled sounds of the thugs quietly arguing barely heard through the thick door. Then, the footsteps begin to lead away and Gavin feels Connor finally release his arm.

 

“Fuck...that was close,” Gavin mutters.

 

“It was,” a voice that’s not Connor’s whispers close to his ear.

 

The detective shouts in surprise, his shoulder slamming into the door as he instinctively hops away from the sound. The next few seconds are a clusterfuck as Gavin presses himself to the nearest wall, withdrawing his gun and pointing it into the darkness in front of him. A light flickers on and the detective’s eyes water from the brightness of it, blearily focusing on the figure in front of him. His grip on his weapon tightens in warning but it takes a moment before his eyes are of any use to him.

 

“I must give you credit: you managed to get away from Bones three times tonight,” Elijah Kamski says, a note of amusement in his voice. “He’s usually more competent.”

 

Blinking away the last of the disorienting spots of light, Gavin scowls as he peers at the only other person in the room with them. It’s a small office, mostly bare now, but Kamski is casually leaning against a desk, almost as if he’s inconvenienced to have to be here. An odd pair of goggles sit over his eyes and he begins to pull them off.

 

“Don’t fucking move!” Gavin commands, aiming his gun towards the gangster’s head in warning.

 

Kamski ignores him and stares with mild interest at what he’s now holding. “This is an interesting piece of tech I had our engineers make, a prototype for the military. Not only does it offer night vision and detect heat signatures, but it can also provide real time vital statistics on organisms within a limited range. Your blood pressure, detective, is through the roof. You might want to get that checked out.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Gavin sneers, cocking his gun. “Elijah Kamski, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping and torture of Richard Stern. Got anything to say for yourself, you piece of shit?”

 

Kamski arches a brow, glancing between Gavin and the lieutenant. “...isn’t this the part where one of you tells me my Miranda Rights?”

 

“Fucking Christ, what is it with you dirt bags and your god damn Miranda Rights,” Gavin mutters, his glare darkening. “How about you tell me where the fuck Nines is, asshole? And then let’s have a conversation about your fucking ‘rights’!”

 

“...or, how about you and I have a little conversation?”

 

“Give me a fucking reason to put a bullet in your skull, I fucking dare you!”

 

Kamski smirks at the threat, reaching for something in his pocket. Instinctively, Gavin aims his gun at the crime lord’s hand and fires.

 

Click.

 

...nothing happens.

 

He pulls the trigger again.

 

Click.

 

...nothing.

 

_...the fuck?_

 

Why isn’t his gun loaded?

 

His stomach drops as he feels cold metal press against his temple.

 

“You really should choose your friends more carefully,” Kamski says, with the widest, shit eating grin on his face.

 

A kind of betrayal worse than when Gavin learned Connor had moved in with Hank has the detective’s insides pulling and twisting, an iciness that makes every pump of his heart chill the very blood flowing in his veins, the detective’s eyes darting to Connor in shock.

 

The hand that presses the gun to Gavin’s head remains steady, though there is a sadness in Connor’s brown eyes even as his expression remains grim. “I did say there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my brother.”

 

The gun Gavin’s holding clatters to the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, ya'll still happy Connor's back? ^^;;;


	11. Sell My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Kamski have a long overdue talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments last chapter! I think it's been one of the most intense cliffhangers yet so I'm grateful for everyone who's sticking around and (hopefully) not sending me angry vibes across the Pacific XD. There was mention of phones being tossed in rage. Please take care of your electronics T.T
> 
> I believe I've replied to most of the comments so here are some shout outs to a few awesome readers: [Vicky_Strife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife), [Sassy_assassin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassy_assassin/pseuds/Sassy_assassin%22), Kagari, [Snaked_Lows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snaked_Lows/pseuds/Snaked_Lows%22), [mrhiddles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhiddles/pseuds/mrhiddles%22), and [CB5600](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CB5600/pseuds/CB5600). Some of you are new readers, some may have been here for a while. But either way, I appreciate your continued support. <3
> 
> This chapter does not have any new warnings, but there are mentions of the kind of gore/violence that's been present in this series. So if you find such content upsetting, you may want to proceed with caution. 
> 
> Happy reading!

For a long moment, Gavin is stunned into silence. The nearly decade of history between them is flashing in his mind: he remembers their rocky start in the early days of their partnership. Their first night together. That last fight as a couple. The time Connor pushed him out of the line of fire and was nearly killed. Their rocky reconciliation after Connor and Hank’s wedding…

 

It hasn’t always been good between them. But Gavin had once thought he _knew_ Connor better than anyone else. And even when he learned Connor had an estranged twin, he at least felt he still trusted Connor to have his back in a bad spot.

 

Turns out, all of that’s a fucking lie, too.

 

“How long?” Gavin says, his voice hitching.

 

When Connor says nothing, only looks away guiltily, Gavin snaps, “How fucking _long,_ Con?!”

 

Maybe he shouldn’t get so angry. With a gun to his head, he can’t even be sure Connor won’t pull the trigger. But Gavin’s too fucking hurt to reel in his anger.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Connor finally says.

 

“Bull fucking shit it doesn’t. You fucking sold me out,” Gavin hisses.

 

His voice cracks and Connor visibly winces, as if the words have slapped him across the face. But he doesn’t acknowledge them, ignores him and flicks his gaze to Kamski. “I brought him, like I said I would. Now, where’s my brother?”

 

Kamski glances between them and a slow smirk spreads on his lips. “Now, now, Lieutenant. There’s no rush. Why don’t you answer the detective’s question?”

 

Connor’s jaw tightens but his lips remain snapped shut, too ashamed to even meet Gavin’s eyes.

 

Almost lazily, Kamski picks up the discarded gun and turns it over in his hand with mild interest. “Tell the detective how long I’ve been pulling your strings.”

 

And when that doesn’t seem to get Connor talking, Kamski pulls a familiar device out of his pocket. Gavin’s eyes widen with panic.

 

“Fuck sakes, just answer the god damn question!”

 

“You’d best listen to him. Otherwise, things are about to get a bit more... _uncomfortable_ for your twin.”

 

Humiliation has Connor’s face coloring but he relents as Kamski’s thumb slides over the screen.

 

“Since you ID’d Rich,” Connor admits, quietly.

 

Gavin stares at him in disbelief. All this time—all this fucking _time—_ Connor’s been working for Kamski, back before Gavin went undercover.

 

“You had CCTV footage of him,” Connor says, “and you were working so hard to put him away. What was I supposed to do, Gav?”

 

It’s the dropping of the other shoe. Everything that’s transpired since Gavin stumbled upon that footage back in 2038...now, he’s seeing Connor in a completely new light, sees everything related to the Kamski-Stern investigation from a different angle. It’s like he’s staring into the eyes of a complete stranger, one capable of doing things he’d never considered. And pieces of the puzzle he hadn’t realized were missing suddenly fall into place.

 

Gavin thinks back to how easily he’d been pegged as an undercover cop, how Nines had already been spying on him for _weeks_ at that point.

 

“You fucking told them I was going undercover,” Gavin says, sneering with disgust. “You’re the one who gave them _everything_ we had on them! And all those fucking documents— _my_ personal fucking files—it was fucking you! You been fucking working with Nines behind my back this entire time!”

 

Now, he feels even more betrayed, and not just by Connor. But it doesn’t make sense. When Nines and Connor met at the ball, they looked as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. That couldn’t have been an act too...could it?

 

“I gave it all to Kamski,” Connor clarifies, swallowing uncomfortably. His grip on the gun wavers. “Rich...he doesn’t know. He wasn’t even speaking to me back then...he still isn’t. He would have never let me get involved.”

 

If Gavin wasn’t vibrating with anger, he’d be exhaling in relief. At least, in this, Nines hadn’t conspired to pull the wool over his eyes.

 

“Starting to get why he stays the fuck away from you,” Gavin quips and he at least feels some satisfaction in the obvious hurt on Connor’s face. “You get all holier-than-thou with your fucking lectures on integrity. What _fucking_ integrity, Con?! You’re as two-faced as him, maybe fucking worse!”

 

“ _I_ did what I had to!” Connor says, heatedly. “Rich was getting sloppy! I knew that if he slipped up once—that if _you_ were serious about putting him away—then he’d slip up again. And I wasn’t about to let my brother spend a lifetime behind bars for doing what he needed to in order to survive!”

 

“Murphy. You were the first one on the scene. You fucking tampered with all that evidence and let one of the rookie’s take the fall for it,” Gavin realizes. “What the _fuck_ , Con?!”

 

“Is that _not_ what you’ve been doing as well?!” Connor demands, his grip tightening on the gun. “You _knew_ he killed Murphy and you never said anything. You knew better than any of us _why_ he did it but you protected him!”

 

“I didn’t get someone fired and fucking discredited for it!”

 

“No, you only got the lieutenant at your precinct killed!” Connor shouts and Gavin startles before he can protest, feels guilt take root in his abdomen and leave his insides curling painfully. “I saw the evidence request form, Gav! And while you were listed as one of the investigating officers on the case, your signature was, not surprisingly, absent! You knew about Aleksi just as you knew about Murphy but you didn’t say _anything_ and people died because of your silence! So don’t you judge me for doing what you’ve been doing all along!”

 

Gavin’s reeling from the accusation, is angrier than he’s been in a while but finds himself stunned into guilt-laden silence. It would be just like Connor to turn all this on him, make him out to be the fucking _worst_ when Connor’s actively corrupted crime scenes while Gavin’s only been complicit in his silence. But deep down, he knows that his silence has come with a price tag and the cost was someone who had risked it all trying to do the right thing.

 

Gonzales hadn’t deserved any of this. And it was all his fucking fault.

 

_You didn’t damage her fucking brakes,_ he tries telling himself.

 

But fuck, he may as well have.

 

“As much as I enjoy a good fight, I think it’s time I give you what you came for,” Kamski says, as two of his thugs enter the room. He gestures to Connor and the lieutenant is taken by surprise as one of the men takes him roughly by the arm, twists and disarms him, and then shoves him against the wall. Connor shouts, tries to maneuver out of his grip, but the gangster’s got fifty pounds of muscle on him. The other keeps a gun on Gavin but there’s no reason to: Gavin’s got just enough rage in him to overcome every instinct that had him nearly jumping to the lieutenant’s defense.

 

“Take a seat, Detective,” Kamski says, and indicates to the chair in front of his desk. “You and I have a lot to discuss.”

 

Gavin hesitates but does as he’s told.

 

“You promised to give me my brother!” Connor snaps, struggling against the bindings now on his wrists.

 

“I believe my exact words were I’d ‘reunite you’ with Nines and I do intend on keeping my word,” Kamski answers, with a light chuckle. Turning to his thugs, he accepts one of the guns and says, “Take the lieutenant to where I’m keeping his brother. I’ll be dealing with them shortly.”

 

“Kamski! Don’t do this! I’ve done _everything_ you asked!” Connor pleads and Gavin’s never felt more disgusted with himself for having spent months silently stewing in shame for going behind Connor’s back.

 

“You did everything I asked to protect your own _career,_ Lieutenant! Let’s not pretend your intentions have been entirely noble.”

 

Gavin glances in confusion between them. Kamski waves off the gangsters, who escort the lieutenant out of the room.

 

Once Connor’s protests fade with the retreating footsteps, an uncomfortable tension passes between the two. Gavin’s head is swimming with all that’s been revealed and he still not quite sure how to feel about everything. He’s angry—fuck, is he angry—but there’s still part of him that silently berates himself for not even trying to stick up for Connor, as much as that two-faced prick doesn’t deserve it. It seems deception is a Stern family trait and he’s so fucking stupid for not having seen the signs earlier.

 

“You must be wondering why we’re here,” Kamski starts.

 

Gavin’s wondering a billion _fucking_ things right now.

 

“Where’s Nines?” he demands, glaring up at the gangster.

 

Kamski sighs in exasperation, leaning against the desk with his arms folded. The gun remains in his hand, the unloaded revolver Gavin had been carrying now on the desk, and while Gavin’s mind races through dozens of scenarios, he suspects Kamski’s reflexes fast enough to make any attempt at disarming him futile. “Why is everyone always asking about him?”

 

“Is this about making me one of your fucking cops? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll be one of your guys.”

 

It almost surprises him at how easy he gives in. But, in many ways, it also doesn’t.

 

“I’ll fuck up evidence, look the other way whenever any of you dirtbags are up to shady shit,” Gavin continues. “Wanna deal heroin, red ice, whatever fucking shit you cook up in your labs? Deal whatever the fuck you want, I won’t say a thing.”

 

“I...admit this wasn’t what I was expecting,” Kamski says, looking surprised and amused.

 

“I’ll only play ball if you give me Nines and...fucking Christ, that asshole Connor. Let ‘em go and I’ll be the best fucking lapdog you’ve ever had.”

 

Gavin’s done. He’s reached the end of his rope, is dangling from the precipice and about to be consumed whole by this broken joke of a system he’s spent the last 16 years of his life fighting for. All that’s left is to let go and take that final plunge, fall headfirst into the sea of corruption that’s been lapping at the base of that cliff ever since that first time Nines smirked at him.

 

The last thing he has in his pride. But who the fuck cares about that if it’s gonna cost him Nines?

 

Kamski is silent, appears to mull over what Gavin is offering. “...you really would do anything for them. Such loyalty is very hard to find.”

 

If he’s expecting Gavin to answer, the detective merely glares.

 

“Tell me, Detective Reed: why is it that you’re so loyal to people who have lied to you at every turn?”

 

The question takes Gavin aback. “The fuck do you care?”

 

“It seems counter-intuitive. Blind loyalty is very rarely found between lovers, much less friends. Even the strongest of relationships can be ripped at the seams with a bit of deception. Family, however, can withstand the worst of trials. Blood, as they say, is thicker than water,” Kamski says, tilting his head and regarding Gavin in a way that the detective finds unsettling. It’s almost as if he gaze can pierce the many thoughts running through Gavin’s mind. “It leaves one to wonder if your lack of family means you cling to the very few people who have bothered to give you a modicum of their attention.”

 

“You trying to psycho-analyze me now?”

 

“I am merely making an observation. It must have been difficult, growing up in foster care.”

 

Gavin shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Would you get to the fucking point? Doubt you made Connor drag my ass out here so we can have a heart-to-heart ‘bout my shitty childhood.”

 

Seriously, after Gavin _somehow_ talks Kamski into releasing Connor and Nines, he is punching Connor in the fucking face. He has yet to decide if that’s before or after he screams at the two-faced, smug asshole for being stupid enough to trust any deal he made with Kamski.

 

“You’ve never wondered about your father? If you have any surviving family?”

 

“Asshole was never there, never gave a shit about us. Why the fuck would I bother finding him?” Gavin says, angrily.

 

He only has a handful of memories of his mother. Olive skin, pale eyes, and long dark hair. Dimples that made her smiles brighter than the sun, gentle whispers as she caressed his hair and sang him softly to sleep on an old, worn couch. He still remembers the many months he watched her fade before his eyes, too poor to seek medical treatment, working herself to her literal death to put food on the table, eventually succumbing to her cancer.

 

Back then, he hadn’t understood what exactly _had_ happened. Just knew that one day she was there and the next, she was not. He found the truth years later: his mother ran away from an abusive home as a teen and later worked as an escort because it was better than living on the street. She became pregnant with him and though they didn’t have much, she gave him _everything_ and never once made him feel as if he was unwanted. He never knew her to be unkind to anyone and always wondered why the world was such a fucked up place that it took someone as good as her so early, someone who fucking deserved _better._

 

“...have you ever considered that maybe he didn’t know?”

 

Gavin’s eyes narrow, not at all liking, nor trusting, the way Kamski’s looking at him. As if he’s dangling some truth in front of the detective and Gavin’s stupidly focusing on everything _but_ what’s in front of him. Hackles raised, he knows he shouldn’t indulge him—shouldn’t let Kamski spin whatever bullshit he’s working—but his curiosity gets the better of him.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“I had an... _inkling_ upon learning your mother’s name: Elizabeth Reed. So, I did a bit of digging and found something you might find interesting.”

 

He takes an envelope from on top of his desk and offers it to Gavin. Gavin glances at it mistrustfully, sees the label _DNA Diagnostics Center_ and suddenly recalls that there had been something about DNA testing on Nines’ tablet many months before. He hadn’t given a shit at the time, just assumed it was another gross violation of his privacy. But now he feels his heart begin to pound as he hesitantly accepts the envelope.

 

When Gavin finally unfolds the letter, his gray eyes see the name listed under the _Alleged Father_ , a name that’s eluded him all his life: _Viktor_ Kamski.

 

_No fucking way!_

 

The paper shakes in his unsteady grip as he sees the results of his chromosomes being compared with those of the late Viktor Kamski. He doesn’t even question how in the fuck Kamski got his hands on DNA—maybe even from old evidence boxes of abandoned cases from the many failed attempts to try and bring his father in for murder and drug trafficking—apple really didn’t fall far from that fucking tree—but he swears his heart stops as he reads the conclusion.

 

_Based on our analysis, there is a 99.9998 % probability that Mr. Viktor Kamski is the biological father of the subject, Gavin Reed._

 

And for one, brief moment it’s as if the entire world stops. The breath that fills his lungs sits heavy against his diaphragm but he is too afraid to release it, scanning and re-reading the letter once again. A numbing awareness of what this all means, of how he’s connected in more ways than he thought to Detroit’s most violent and narcissistic drug lord, chills Gavin to his core as he confirms the truth sitting in his hands.

 

He’s the son of the man who started Kamski’s empire, an ex-convict who did hard time for violent offenses before making a name for himself as one of Detroit’s key suppliers of heroin. His— _their_ father had been a small fish in a big pond but without him, Elijah would have had a rougher start to amassing his wealth and influence.

 

He raises his eyes sharply to Kamski.

 

“Is this some kind of fucking joke?!”

 

He’s trembling so hard, he half expects to rip the results in his hand.

 

_It can’t be fucking true! No way am I his…_

 

But Gavin’s so repulsed, he can’t even bring himself to think of the word.

 

Kamski cocks a brow. “Why would I make something like this up? What possible benefit could I gain from having a half-brother whose most significant accomplishment in life is staying out of prison? You’re _not_ important. And seeing how all I needed was to threaten the life of one of my unruly subordinates for you to offer your services to me, I think fabricating our blood relation would have been overkill.”

 

Hearing Kamski belittle him and reduce him to nothing more than ex-juvie who avoided getting sucked back into the days of his teenage delinquency, the sting of his insignificance makes Gavin feel self-conscious and drop his gaze. His eyes water as he realizes that this is who he is—who he’s _always_ been: nothing but the forgotten bastard of a violent criminal.

 

“You’re not important, Gavin. Nothing you’ve ever done has been important.”

 

“You really gotta rub that shit in?!” Gavin snaps, his voice cracking.

 

To his surprise, he sees sympathy in those icy, blue eyes. “It’s not fair, the way everyone’s treated you. You deserved _more_ from the people you’ve served all these years but they were always willing to overlook your hard work. You _should_ matter but you don’t. The DPD doesn’t give a fuck about you and let’s be honest: say if I was in the mood to kill you. Who would mourn you? Your cat?”

 

Gavin blinks rapidly at the stinging in his eyes, lips curling into an angry sneer. “Y-you’re really a piece of fucking work. Think you can get into my fucking head, too?!”

 

“Let’s look at the facts, _brother,_ ” Kamski answers. “You worked hard and you have _nothing_ to show for it. Even the people you trusted most betrayed you and here you are, fighting for them, but can you really be sure they would do the same for you?”

 

He has to stop listening, each word filling his head with more of its malicious poison. But he can’t deny that Kamski’s _right_ : all he has to do is think of all of Nines’ deceptions and Connor leading him here like a lamb to slaughter and Gavin’s suddenly wondering what the fuck he was even thinking trying to negotiate for their lives.

 

“Without a family, you’ve filled that void with people less deserving of what you have to offer. You’re not important because _no one_ has let you realize your potential,” Kamski continues. “We are bound by more than our blood, Gavin: we are the kind of men this world would rather crush than see prosper. Our difference? You’ve let the world crush you while I...I’ve taken what I’m owed by _force_.”

 

“The fuck you think you’re owed to justify all the trafficking, extorting, and fucking murder?!” Gavin demands. “What about Gonzales? What the fuck was she doing that you had to get rid of her?!”

 

“ _She_ was sniffing into my business,” Kamski says, coolly. “Besides, it’s rather presumptuous of you to think _I_ was the one who wanted her dead: there’s so much red tape with the cops I have in my pocket, Gonzales would never have gotten anywhere with her little side investigation. She was no threat to me.”

 

Gavin stares at him in disbelief.

 

“Think about it, Detective: who was it that Gonzales requested files on?”

 

_No…_

 

But Gavin refuses to accept that it’s true. Because it _can’t_ be true. Because Nines has only ever killed other scumbags who have gotten on Kamski’s bad side: rapists, pedophiles, and violent offenders who get their rocks off torturing the people they have power over.

 

Nines can’t have anything to do with Gonzales’ death because Gavin doesn’t _want_ him to be connected. Because he knows that if Nines did it, there’s no way he’d ever be able to fucking forgive him.

 

“No fucking way! A god damn hit man accepts _hits_ ; they don’t god damn murder a fucking cop for having a hunch!”

 

“You can ask him yourself later. I’m sure he’ll give you a _very_ interesting answer.”

 

He doesn’t want to believe Kamski. But there are so many conflicting thoughts in his head, the lies Nines has fed him for so long distorting what Gavin thinks he knows of the gangster and what he once thought him incapable of. And all he sees in Kamski’s amused smirk is an earnestness that leaves a sick twisting in Gavin’s gut.

 

“Gonzales’ passing is a tragedy, I’ll not deny that. Her years of service gone in an instant because she stepped on the wrong person’s foot. That badge that both you and her swore by has become a _joke_ , Detective. This whole system is a joke and the only ones reaping the rewards are those of us wealthy enough to corrupt it and brown nosers like Chau, who are begging to be corrupted,” Kamski says, boldly placing his gun on the desk in front of Gavin. All Gavin would have to do is reach for it and he knows he could fire it off before Kamski could react. The gun sits before him, a temptation, as Kamski stands up and begins to pace the room.

 

“Why fight for such a system? Why give more of yourself, only to continue to be stepped on?”

 

Gavin feels Kamski’s cool, inquisitive eyes on him, watching with interest to see what the detective will do. His hand twitches at his side and how tempting it would be to take the gun and end this once and for all.

 

“Maybe cuz putting your ass in prison is the right thing to do,” Gavin mutters, what should have been a bold declaration wavering with all his uncertainty.

 

“No court would condemn me, nor would anyone who’s ever associated with me be stupid enough to testify against me,” Kamski says. “My lawyers are better connected than whatever prosecutor the state would assign to my trial and once Chloe stabilizes the new thirium 310 formula she’s been concocting at Cyberlife, we will be changing the world in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. I’m the wealthiest man in the state, my company arguably the most innovative of this century. Who would believe the testimony of _some_ detective over one of the greatest minds in America?”

 

“You’re really that fucking full of yourself?”

 

“I’m only warning you that any attempt to use the law against me won’t work, so let’s save you the trouble of pretending you give a shit about your integrity. You can’t win against me, Detective, so why not do the next best thing? And I’m not talking about working _for_ me but working _with_ me.”

 

Gavin glares suspiciously at Kamski, no longer interested in the gun sitting in front of him. “How the fuck’s that any different from what I offered?”

 

“Because we’re _blood_. You’re a Kamski, like it or not. And if there’s one thing our father taught me it’s that the only people you can trust in life are family.”

 

Kamski walks around to the other side of the desk and seats himself across from Gavin. For the first time during this conversation, Gavin takes a hard look at the gangster and sees what he’s been missing all his life: his nose on someone else’s face, sans the damage from the multiple breaks he’s experienced; the squareness of his jaw; even the shape of Kamski’s brows bear a resemblance to his.

 

His throat’s tight as he seeks the words, as it fully hits him that he is looking into the face of _someone_ he shares blood with.

 

“You’ll be no subordinate: you’ll be my equal. I need people I can _trust_ , Gavin, and you’ve shown you’re loyal. For the longest time, I had to rely on grunts like Nines and, well, you were there: you saw how easily he turned on me, even though he _should_ have known there was no bargaining with a man like Zlatko,” Kamski continues, when Gavin fails to find the words. “Anything you want, I can give you: you want to replace Chau? Consider it done. Don’t want to get your hands dirty? I’m sure we can find something for you to do at Cyberlife. All I ask is that you join me and stop giving so much of yourself to men, and a career, that never deserved you.”

 

His words are like honey to Gavin’s ears, the reminder that everything Gavin’s ever worked for has given him nothing good. He’s played by the rules, paid his dues, and instead saw his ex-lover benefit and have the white-picket fence, American-dream life that Gavin’s always secretly yearned for. Fuck, Gavin’s not even a home owner and still needs to scrape by just to get decent cat food for poor Socks.

 

Why shouldn’t he get something after all he’s given up?

 

“So...I join you? Just like that?”

 

“Well...there is an unsettled matter. Something that needs to be dealt with. Let’s call it a test of loyalty.”

 

Gavin’s eyes drop to the gun in front of him. Slowly, he reaches for it, sees Kamski tense on the other side of the desk. He takes the unloaded gun he’d dropped earlier, doesn’t even attempt to take Kamski’s.

 

“What is it you need me to do?”

 

Kamski smirks.

 

* * *

 

The facility is a bit larger on the inside than it looks from outside, the back entrance leading into a small hallway with a series of offices. As Kamski takes Gavin through the building, Gavin idly notes that at one time, some of these rooms were most likely used for weighing and packaging whatever drugs were going through here. Most of the rooms are empty now, far too pristine for an old warehouse but Kamski wouldn’t want to leave behind any evidence.

 

“This building’s been in the family for some time. It was the first one our father purchased, at the height of his business. I’m almost sad to see it go,” Kamski remarks idly.

 

The detective merely grunts, too numbed by everything he’s learned in the last hour to really process what’s going on around him. The empty gun sits back in the holster at his hip.

 

Kamski takes Gavin into the large storage area, the space more heavily lit than the rest of the facility. Like the rest of the place, it’s mostly empty, with the exception of a few crates pushed towards the back walls. In the center of the room sits a long table, two bound figures seated across from each other. Surrounding them are four of Kamski’s henchmen, each armed and carefully watching their prisoners. One of the prisoners has his back to the entrance while the other facing them is bleeding heavily from the right side of his face.

 

Gavin’s heart thumps wildly as he recognizes the bloodied figure as Nines.

 

“I had been in the middle of punishing him when I received an interesting text from the good lieutenant offering a trade,” Kamski says, his shoes clicking on the floor as he approaches the table. He stops at the head of it and immediately, Connor begins to squirm against his bindings.

 

“Did you really have to do that to him?!” Connor demands, his voice cracking.

 

Nines’ face is mostly turned away from Gavin, though the angry red blinking is enough to let him know of the gangster’s distress. Dried blood cakes the right side of his face, old scars reopened and new ones carved fresh above his brow. When he finally lifts his head, hair sticking to the dried blood on his forehead, Gavin’s unable to choke back a cry: only one of Nines’ gray eyes regard him, the other having been viciously gored out. Torn flesh surrounds the open wound and though the left side of Nines’ face shows surprise at seeing Gavin in the room with them, he scowls and glares across the table at his twin, straining against his bindings.

 

“You offered to trade Gavin for _me?_ What the _fuck,_ Con?!”

 

“Kamski had assured me he was only interested in bargaining with Gavin! That he had no intention of harming him! It was the only thing I could think of to save you!”

 

“I do not need _saving!_ ” Nines hisses, a snarl on his lips. “This is why I stopped getting you involved in my affairs! You always find some way to fuck _everything_ up!”

 

“You wouldn’t let me help you! I wasn’t going to sit back and let Kamski kill you!”

 

“And how in the hell did working with him behind _my back_ help me?! Forgive me but I fail to see what good has come of any of this!”

 

“Ah, sibling rivalry,” Kamski says, with a chuckle.

 

Gavin remains at his side, staring in horror as the Stern brothers continue to bicker. Nines is absolutely livid and seems more concerned with chewing Connor out than the fact that he literally had his eye ripped out. Connor, who merely has a bruise on his face and a cut lip from the struggle he must have put up, gets increasingly defensive as their arguing escalates.

 

Kamski motions for two of his thugs and each one stands behind a twin, guns cocked. On his left, Gavin sees Ralph reluctantly aim his pistol at Connor’s head, his uncertain gaze flicking over to Nines. Much to Gavin’s disgust, he realizes the man who has his gun on Nines is fucking Hicks. With the threat of being shot point blank, the brothers quiet down.

 

“Did you really have to bring in this fucking prick?” Gavin sneers, glaring at Hicks.

 

Kamski glances at him in bemusement. “You don’t approve?”

 

“He pisses me the fuck off.”

 

“I could always get rid of him, if he bothers you so much.”

 

Seeing Hicks’ eyes widen and the normally slimy asshole that close to pissing himself? Fucking worth it.

 

“Fuck, whatever.”

 

He swears he sees his idiot partner exhale in relief, the gun to Nines’ head shaking in the asshole’s hand.

 

“Now that we’re all here, I think it’s time we settle this issue once and for—!”

 

“I am the one who betrayed you, Kamski: let Connor go! From what I gathered, he has been nothing but incredibly _loyal_ to you all this time,” Nines says, glaring disapprovingly at his brother.

 

“You said you would let Rich go! Do it, Kamski, and I promise you I will do _anything_ you ask!”

 

“Enough of this!” Kamski shouts above both of them, his patience worn thin. He places the device in front of him at the head of the table and Nines snaps his mouth shut. From the caked, dried blood coating his ears and neck, Gavin can only imagine how much the gangster has already endured.

 

“Here’s my dilemma: one of you tried to sell me out; the other sold out my own brother,” Kamski says, taking out his loaded gun and pointing it first at Nines and then at Connor. “ _Loyalty_ is something I value most in my organization and both of you have proven how little loyalty matters to you. Why should either of you live when you clearly don’t give a shit about me or my business?”

 

“But I _have_ remained loyal!” Connor protests, his watery gaze darting worriedly to Nines. “I brought you Gavin, just as you wanted. I did _everything_ you demanded of me!”

 

“You did it for yourself, Lieutenant! You would rather barter your ex-partner than let me discipline your moronic brother for working against me! You know the price of disobeying me but you sniveled and whined and begged for me to spare him! What use do I have for a cop who values the life of a disobedient _dog_ over someone who can actually be useful to us?”

 

And to make his point, he jabs at the screen of the device, Nines writhing against his bindings. Connor screams for him to stop, tears spilling down his cheeks. Gavin looks down at the table, ignores the lieutenant’s cries and the gangster’s pained grunts until they finally stop. When he does dare to look up, Nines is panting heavily, slumped forward in his seat, blood and drool dripping from his parted lips.

 

“E-end it already,” Nines rasps out, shuddering with his exhale.

 

“Not enjoying this? You seemed to like leaving your DNA all over the messy crime scenes I’ve had to clean up, _after_ you’ve tortured and maimed someone you were supposed to simply kill,” Kamski says, setting his gun down in front of him. “But the end should come sooner than even I wanted: I _had_ toyed with the idea of trying the infamous Kamski Test on you two but I have a feeling the results will be...disappointing.”

 

“The fuck’s the Kamski Test?” Gavin asks.

 

He feels Nines’ single eye on him but he doesn’t return the gangster’s gaze.

 

“It’s a test of loyalty and would be fitting if either of them had an ounce of loyalty left,” Kamski answers. “The game is simple: the subject whose loyalty is in question gets to make a choice. If he values his future in my empire, he will shoot and kill the person he claims matters most to him. If, however, he is unable to make the kill, he will turn the gun on himself.

 

“And herein is my dilemma: Connor would never kill Nines and Nines would never kill Connor. The fun of the Kamski Test is not witnessing the triumph of love over self-interest but of destroying whatever emotional tethers prevent any of my men from committing fully to my operation. Thus, this test would be wasted on them.”

 

“You sure about that? Connor’s pretty fucking selfish.”

 

“I would never kill my own _brother_!” Connor says, angrily.

 

Gavin glares back at him. “Hey, can I…?”

 

Kamski nods. “By all means.”

 

With a sneer, Gavin strides over to Connor and backhands him across the face. The lieutenant swallows a pained grunt. Fuck, does it feel good.

 

From the corner of his eye, he swears he sees Nines’ lip twitch. Sadistic prick.

 

“Since the Kamski Test is useless, I’m thinking of trying something a bit...different. Think of this as your initiation into the family business: we have two men who have, at some point, wronged at least one of us. I’d normally just dispose of them and be done with it but I’m feeling...generous tonight. I’m willing to let one of them live.”

 

Gavin returns to Kamski’s side, folds his arms over his chest with a scoff. “And let me guess: I get to choose the lucky prick who’s not about to taste lead.”

 

“Precisely. You don’t even have to get your hands dirty; Ralph and Hicks are more than capable of pulling the trigger.” Though, as he says it, Kamski eyes Ralph suspiciously. “Which is it gonna be, Detective: the best friend who sold you out or the ex-lover who killed your friend, Gonzales?”

 

A startled look appears on Nines’ face, who snaps his head sharply in their direction. At the mention of Gonzales, that sick feeling returns to Gavin’s gut and he can’t stop the hurt and anger that leaves a tremor in his voice, stares directly at Nines for the first time since entering the room. Though part of him is pained to see what Kamski’s done to him, Kamski’s ire forever tattooed in Nines’ flesh, all Gavin can think of is Gonzales’ body sitting in the morgue. “This true?”

 

Nines’s dry lips part, yet no words come immediately. But the guilt on his face condemns him.

 

“You promised you’d never to lie me, Nines,” Gavin whispers, angrily. “You fucking _promised._ So you better tell me the fucking truth!”

 

After a moment, Nines quietly admits, “...I didn’t know she was important to you.”

 

“That’s not a fucking answer!”

 

He hesitates. “...yes. She’s dead because of me.”

 

Tears well in Gavin’s eyes and he blinks them back, his own guilt making him sick to his stomach. Because this is the price of his silence.

 

“She was one of the good ones. Fucking better than me or your backstabbing prick of a brother,” Gavin sneers. “She didn’t fucking deserve that.”

 

“I did what I was ordered to do.”

 

“Bullshit! You killed her because she was fucking onto you!” Gavin snaps, slamming his fist onto the table. His words make Nines flinch visibly, the truth of the accusation only painting him more guilty as Gavin continues. “You could have threatened her or left her the fuck alone! It’s not like Chau or Connor were gonna let her put you away! You didn’t have to fucking kill her!”

 

“Connor was a variable I was completely unaware of until his appearance here tonight.”

 

“Fucking own up to your shit! I’m so fucking done with you hiding behind your shitty excuses!” Gavin rages.

 

“...you are right, Gavin,” Nines answers, with a defeat that leaves him slumping against his seat, no longer looking at the detective. “It is my fault. I am...sorry, for the pain my actions have caused.”

 

A tear slips off Gavin’s lashes and he hastily swipes it away.

 

“In my defense, I had simply _informed_ Nines of the situation and asked him to deal with it,” Kamski adds, with a bored shrug. “That he took it to such extremes shows how much of an animal he’s become and how not even I can control his wayward behavior. Is this the kind of man you think worthy of sparing?”

 

Gavin’s fists tighten at his side.

 

“No,” he whispers, his heart breaking as he utters the words aloud, “he’s fucking not.”

 

“Don’t do this, Gav,” Connor pleads with him. “Don’t let Kamski use you like this! Whatever Rich has done, it’s not worth killing him! I don’t care if you send him to prison but if you’re going to let Kamski kill either of us, it should be me! I’ve known you longer, I’ve done worse things—!”

 

“He’s made his choice, Connor,” Nines says, the resignation in his voice causing his brother to choke back a sob. “...just get it over with.”

 

“Is this what you want, Detective?” Kamski asks, tilting his head and scrutinizing Gavin carefully.

 

Gavin glances between Connor and Nines. He’s angry, he’s hurt...he’s so fucking sick of being treated like a fucking tool by everyone.

 

“You know what?” Gavin says, with a vicious sneer. “I don’t give a shit. Kill them both.”

 

Kamski smiles wide, clapping Gavin on the shoulder. “Well, boys: you heard him.”

 

Ralph and Hicks cock their guns.


	12. Killing The Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin makes the Stern brothers play a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for being so understanding in your comments! I managed to find enough time to keep to my editing schedule so this week's update is on time. I am in Japan this coming weekend and that may delay Chapter 13's update (it is 17k, which means it may already need more than 7 days for the edit >.>). Sorry for the delays but I will do my best to get the next part up to you as soon as I can!
> 
> One special shout out to [Vicky_Strife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife) for this [wonderful collage](https://bpdeadpool.tumblr.com/post/187241165110/made-a-collage-for-my-fave-reed900-au-bad) he made. It's absolutely gorgeous and you should totally send love his way. Honestly, I can't believe there are so many talented people who follow this story T.T. A few of you have already reduced me to (happy) tears for the amount of love you give my writing. Thank you so much <3
> 
> More shout outs for people who have been following this story and commenting: [Let_Die](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Let_Die/pseuds/Let_Die), [vinczu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinczu/pseuds/vinczu), [Avannavenger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avannavenger/pseuds/Avannavenger), [50s_housewife_with_a_dark_secret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/50s_housewife_with_a_dark_secret/pseuds/50s_housewife_with_a_dark_secret), [beewaizumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beewaizumi/pseuds/beewaizumi), and [HarpyLucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpyLucky/pseuds/HarpyLucky). Thank you so much for your theories, analysis, and general support. I've thoroughly enjoyed all the feedback you leave <3
> 
> WARNING: Please heed all tag warnings as some will certainly apply to this chapter.
> 
> Happy reading ;)

With the order given, both Hicks and Ralph aim for their marks; Hicks, with perverse glee and Ralph, his unsteady grip and wide eyes making Gavin half convinced the kid would sooner bolt than pull the trigger. It’s as Hicks’ index finger slides over the trigger that the detective gives a loud, exaggerated huff.

 

Kamski makes a gesture, stopping Hicks and Ralph. Ralph all but exhales in relief. “Something the matter, Detective?”

 

Gavin looks between Nines and Connor, Nines’ single eye catching his gaze while Connor slumps forward in his chair. The detective grunts, gives a slight shake of his head. “Not gonna lie, Eli: was kinda expecting a bit more than putting lead in these two backstabbing fucks.”

 

Kamski tilts his head, whatever initial suspicion he had regarded Gavin with dissipating when he’s addressed by that nickname. “They’ll be dead, just as you wanted. Are you not satisfied?”

 

“C’mon: you’re _the_ Elijah Kamski, the scariest prick in the East side. Shit, half of the scumbags on the street would sooner sell their own mothers than say shit about you. You really wanna let these two assholes off this easy?”

 

A slow, cruel smile spreads across the drug king pin’s lips. “Do you have something in mind, Detective?”

 

“Fucking right I do.”

 

Striding confidently to where Nines is bound, Gavin shoves Hicks roughly aside. Hicks begins to complain but is silenced by a dark look from Kamski.

 

With his arms folded, leaning back against the table, Gavin sneers down his nose at Nines. “Hey, asshole. Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you!”

 

Nines carefully lifts his head, red flaring at his temple. The damage to his flesh has Gavin’s insides churning with discomfort but it’s easy to enough to ignore when Gavin’s running on anger, when he can’t look at the gangster without thinking how he fucking _knew_ and never said anything about Gonzales or Kamski.

 

“Fucking cop killing piece of shit!” Gavin snaps, yanking at the chain around Nines’ neck and twisting it so it tightens around the gangster’s throat.

 

“Gavin! Gavin, stop!” Connor shouts, as Gavin chokes his brother.

 

Nines gargles against the pressure, his temple blinking rapidly as Gavin twists and twists. Then, with a vicious tug, Gavin snaps the gold chain.

 

Nines coughs and wheezes to catch his breath, blood and saliva dripping down his chin. Gavin kicks at one of the gangster’s legs with a cold chuckle, tossing the gold chain to the ground. With a smirk, he glances back at Kamski, holding up the single bullet in his hand.

 

“You want to teach these assholes a fucking lesson?” he says, pulling out the old revolver Connor had given him earlier. He opens the cylinder. “Make them play a game of Russian Roulette, like this prick made me do.”

 

“I fail to see how giving them the opportunity to commit suicide solves my dilemma,” Kamski says, looking unimpressed.

 

Gavin shuts the cylinder and spins it. “That’s cuz you’re thinking small, Eli. These two assholes refuse to kill each other? Fucking make them: don’t let them use the gun on themselves. Get asshole 1 to aim it at asshole 2 and vice versa. Winner gets to watch his shit stain of a brother die before you put one in his skull.”

 

“You’re suggesting I give them a loaded weapon,” Kamski says, skeptically.

 

“Hey, there’s two of them and one gun with only one god damn bullet. Hicks, Ralph, and your guys will take ‘em out if they try something stupid.”

 

“And what if our unwilling participants were to, let’s say, _not_ participate?”

 

“They don’t shoot, shoot the twin. They try and turn the gun on themself, shoot the twin. If they take too fucking long—”

 

“Shoot the twin,” Kamski finishes, with a grin.

 

Connor glares at Gavin from across the table. “This is moronic. You’re going to kill us anyway. Why should we play?”

 

“Because if you refuse to cooperate,” Kamski hisses, “then not only will I kill both of you but I’ll also put a hit on Captain Anderson. And let me assure you, Lieutenant, that his death will not be as swift.”

 

Connor pales at the threat, his shoulders drooping in defeat. But there’s still fury burning in his brown eyes as he glares at Gavin from across the table. “I never thought you would stoop this low, Gav.”

 

“Never thought you’d fucking sell out but here we are,” Gavin answers.

 

Lifting the gun, he aims it at Connor and pulls the trigger.

 

Click.

 

“What the _hell_ , Gavin?!”

 

Gavin shrugs. “You’re pissing me off. That’s one.”

 

Kamski laughs out loud as Connor silently fumes. “Hicks, Ralph: untie them. Let’s get this game started. Lance, Vincent: be ready to shoot if Nines and the Lieutenant become uncooperative.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Gavin sees the other two thugs take position, lingering at the end of the table opposite of Kamski. Connor makes a sound as his hands are untied, rubbing in discomfort at his wrists once they are free. It takes longer for Hicks to undo the bindings for Nines and Gavin rolls his eyes.

 

“The fuck’s the matter, Hicks? You never untied a knot before?” Gavin grumbles.

 

“We don’t all share your kinks, Reed,” Hicks snaps at him.

 

Kamski makes a sound of disgust. “Hicks, if you so much as utter anymore shit that makes me think of things I’d rather _not_ , I’m making _you_ play instead.”

 

Hicks snivels some sort of apology and the bindings finally unravel to the floor. Though the welts in Nines’ left wrist are far more severe than Connor’s, the skin cracked and bleeding from the burn of the rope, he doesn’t make a sound as he sets it on the table.

 

“Hands where I can fucking see them, prick,” Gavin demands.

 

Nines’ right arm hangs limply at his side. He remembers Nines had been shot in his right hand earlier and though he doubts the gangster will be holding anything soon, the glare on his face doesn’t diminish as he waits for the gangster to comply.

 

“My hand _is_ where you can see it,” Nines answers.

 

“Fucking Christ, Nines, just put them on the table so we can get this shit started.”

 

Hesitantly, Nines lifts his arm.

 

Gavin holds back a sound of surprise but Connor gasps loud enough for both of them, as Nines sets his arm on the table. The bloody stump of what’s left of his forearm, his hand and wrist having been removed, are crudely bandaged, the blood-stained cuff on his shirt rolled back just enough for Gavin and Connor to see the extent of the damage. Only half of his forearm remains and Nines doesn’t have the energy to look humiliated, is quiet as Connor’s voice cracks as he says to Kamski, “Did you have to remove his hand?”

 

“He was injured. It seemed necessary to amputate it.”

 

Gavin looks down at Nines’ arm. He then glances to his half-brother, who seems fairly pleased with himself.

 

_It’s time to fucking end this,_ he thinks.

 

“Can you shoot with your left?”

 

Nines fixes his remaining eye on Gavin. “You know very well that I _can_ , Detective.”

 

Gavin places the revolver in front of Nines. “Then start playing.”

 

Nines looks down at the gun, then at his twin sitting across from him. “I believe Connor should have the gun first, as you did just shoot at him.”

 

“Wouldn’t have done it if he kept his fucking mouth shut,” Gavin says, with a shrug. “You gonna keep stalling or you gonna take the fucking shot? You know the rules.”

 

To emphasize the point being made, one of the thugs at the end of the table aims his gun at Connor.

 

Nines spends only a moment longer scrutinizing Gavin carefully before he finally takes the gun. “I suppose there is some poetic justice in ending it this way.”

 

“Just like when we played. But this time, I’m not the one getting fucked.”

 

“Are you certain of that, Detective?”

 

He glances meaningfully at Kamski but Gavin simply scowls. “Quit dicking around, Stern.”

 

Lifting the revolver, Nines aims it point blank at his brother. “A one in five shot. How lucky are you feeling today, Con?”

 

Connor gazes sadly at the gangster. “I don’t blame you for any of this, Rich.”

 

There’s a moments hesitation as the corner of Nines’ lips tug in a bittersweet smile, his finger closing on the trigger. His grip remains steady on the gun as he fires it.

 

Click.

 

His shoulders relax in relief as he places the gun down and slides it to Connor. “I should hope not. Had you stayed away, as I intended, I would be dead by now and you would be with your husband and dog, carrying on obliviously until someone eventually found my body. You are as stubborn as the detective when it comes to failing to stay out of my business.”

 

Connor tenses, brows furrowing as he lifts the gun. “I did what I had to for _you._ You’ve always needed me. If I wasn’t involved, Kamski would have killed you months ago.”

 

Click.

 

Nines doesn’t even flinch, far more interested in what Connor admitted.

 

“He’s right. I had every reason to get rid of you _after_ you started showing signs of deception,” Kamski confirms. “I needed someone with his access at the central station and he would only cooperate if I guaranteed your safety. Why else do you think I had you doing petty drug runs?”

 

“And part of me was hoping you had kept me around out of sentimentality.”

 

“You know _exactly_ how I feel about displaying such weakness. You were only ever a tool, Nines, a means to getting rid of the people who stood in my way. Don’t flatter yourself into believing you’ve ever been anything more than my attack dog.”

 

The gangster takes the gun, his jaw tight as he aims. For a split second, Gavin’s almost sure that Nines is going to aim it at Kamski as he sees that familiar murderous rage igniting in his cool, gray eye. But he sets it on Connor, releases a slow breath in an attempt to calm himself.

 

“I know better now,” he responds, his tone cooler than ice.

 

Click.

 

“ _That_ is debatable,” Kamski continues. “You still make the same sloppy mistakes because you’ve allowed your pathetic attachments to get in the way of your natural talents. Had you left the detective alone, Zlatko would have never figured out your connection and used him against you. We would not even be in this room right now. And remind me, what was it that led you to torturing Father Harris all those years ago?”

 

The name has Connor’s hand freezing as he goes to take the gun. He loses all the color in his face, stares at Kamski as if he’s not quite believing Kamski’s bringing it up now.

 

Something in Gavin’s brain clicks.

 

“You talking about Father Paul Harris, who went missing back in ‘27?” Gavin asks, thinking of one of the more famous cold cases that’s crossed his desk. He’d only been a beat cop back when the headlines had exploded with news on the man’s disappearance, remembers the press and the public pushing the DPD for answers. It had stumped Anderson, who was leading the investigation, how someone so well-known in the community seemed to just disappear. “Fucking Christ, Nines, he was a fucking priest!”

 

“He was a pedophile and no one with the authority to do _anything_ about it would,” Nines snaps, his fist pounding on the table. Hicks fumbles his gun as he attempts to press it to the back of the gangster’s head in warning and Gavin sees how Nines breathes hard, how his nails dig into his palm as a dark look passes over his bloodied face. Nines is struggling to keep calm, like a frenzied animal ready to spring at the next thing that moves and bury its teeth in its target’s throat. “So I took matters into my own hands and gave him _exactly_ what he deserved!”

 

Gavin knows that though Nines is disgusted by such people, he’s done business with some pretty scummy lowlifes and looked the other way to whatever shit they did behind closed doors. He would never target a pedophile for the sake of wanting to clean up the community. The only way he would give a shit if it was _personal._

 

He stares hard at Nines, at the rage that pulsates beneath the thin veil of control. Gavin’s seen that kind of anger before, that same ire that made him tear the head off of Zlatko, even as he lay dead at the gangster’s feet. It’s not the rage of a man who’s been wronged but of one who’s witnessed someone they care about suffer and is only too eager to inflict as much damage on the source.

 

When Gavin sees the humiliation on Connor’s face, all of it clicks.

 

_Damnit, Con,_ Gavin thinks, a tightness in his throat. _You should have fucking told me!_

 

“Y-you shouldn’t have done it, Rich,” Connor stammers, tears flooding his eyes. “I-I didn’t want you to. I-I told you to let the police handle it. You didn’t have to—”

 

“You _know_ that everyone was willing to look the other way,” Nines hisses. “Our own mother _advised_ you to keep it to yourself instead of causing a scandal. After what that _asshole_ did to you—”

 

“I never asked you to torture him!”

 

“I did it for _you_! I was the _only_ one who cared enough to do something about it! And if you had allowed me keep going instead of killing him—”

 

“You wouldn’t stop torturing him! He was screaming and screaming and you just wouldn’t stop!” Connor shouts, his voice cracking. “He was _my_ problem, not yours! I didn’t want his blood on your hands!”

 

“Please,” Nines scoffs, a cruel smirk forming on his lips. With all the dried blood and part of his face now missing, it makes the gangster look even more unhinged and terrifying. “You killed him because you _wanted_ him dead. Because after _everything_ he put you through at the orphanage, some part of you had always pictured what it would be like to finally make him pay. And it felt _good,_ didn’t it, Connor?”

 

Connor doesn’t answer, picks up the gun in front of him. Though his fingers tremble, he steadies his hand as he points the weapon at his twin. There’s something almost sinister in the way he narrows his eyes, a coldness in that warm, brown gaze that perfectly mirrors the way Gavin’s seen Nines look at anyone who crosses him. It sends a chill down Gavin’s spine.

 

“You’re my brother, Rich,” Connor says, quietly. “But I am _nothing_ like you.”

 

His finger closes on the trigger and Nines, well aware he’s revealed a side of the lieutenant Connor’s more than a little ashamed of, eggs him on as he chuckles.

 

Click.

 

Gavin can’t even be sure if it’s relief or disappointment when Connor sets the gun down and slides it to Nines.

 

One more chamber left.

 

“That was...enlightening,” Kamski remarks, watching with interest as Nines takes the gun. “It reminds me of a night more than 12 years ago—”

 

“I believe the final chamber contains the bullet. If my understanding of this ‘game’ is correct, I am about to kill my own brother before you have one of your lackeys turn their weapon on me,” Nines interrupts, looking irate. “If these are to be my final moments, I would much rather spend them not having to be reminded of the unfortunate circumstances under which I came into your employment.”

 

“A shame,” Kamski says, “I’m certain the Detective would find it more than a little interesting.”

 

“The only thing I care about is getting rid of these two lying fucks,” Gavin sneers, kicking impatiently at Nines’ foot. “Take the fucking shot already.”

 

Nines lifts the gun, aims it at Connor. Though his expression is placid, there is a tremor in his hand that prevents him from holding the gun steady. He hesitates.

 

“The fuck you waiting for? A god damn drum roll?”

 

“I need a moment,” Nines says, his jaw tensing.

 

“I don’t recall you ever having any performance issues,” Kamski comments, lewdly. “Detective?”

 

Gavin shrugs. “No complaints on my end. _”_

 

“Is this is really the last thing I need to hear before I die?” Connor mumbles, glaring at Gavin.

 

“Cry me a fucking river, Con. You expect me to give a shit? Shoulda been less of a backstabbing prick, you fucking two-faced asshole!”

 

There’s guilt in Connor’s eyes, sudden regret that silences the fury that’s been present on his face. He parts his lips, perhaps to apologize, but Gavin shuts that shit down quickly. “Don’t even fucking bother. You’re fucking _dead_ to me. And once Nines gets his shit together, it’s gonna be definitive.”

 

Sweat trickles down the side of Nines’ face, his unsteady hand causing him to almost fumble the gun. He inhales slowly, exchanges an apologetic look with Connor. Gavin’s surprised to see the emotion swimming in Nines’ single eye, was not expecting the gangster to let himself look this vulnerable. His voice is shaking as he says, sadly, “I am sorry for this, Con.”

 

Hicks’ gun digs into the back of Nines’ neck, forcing the gangster’s finger on the trigger. As Nines’ exhales, he closes his eye, presses the trigger.

 

Click.

 

Connor exhales loudly, stares in shock at the gun’s barrel. Even Nines looks surprised when he opens his eye and sees his brother still sitting across from him without a bullet through his head.

 

“Try it again!” Kamski says, sharply.

 

Nines swallows hard, takes aim once more.

 

Click.

 

...nothing.

 

With an angry grunt, Gavin snatches the gun from Hicks. Hicks cries out and immediately the two thugs at the end of the table cock their guns in Gavin’s direction. But Gavin’s jabbing Nines in the side of the head, digging the barrel of the gun against the blinking red light at his temple, and the detective heatedly demands, “The fuck are you playing at, asshole?!”

 

Kamski gestures for the two gunmen to lower their weapons. From the corner of his eye, Gavin sees the crime boss regarding him with both intrigue and some suspicion. His scowl deepens as he places his index finger on the pistol’s trigger.

 

“The gun is not _firing_ ,” Nines says, speaking in a slow and condescending tone, “it is clearly jammed.”

 

“How the fuck do you know that?” Gavin snaps. “Maybe I should just put a fucking bullet in you right now and get it over with!”

 

“He’s not lying, Gavin,” Connor says hurriedly, his voice hitching with panic. “It’s one of Hank’s older guns. It’s been known to jam.”

 

“Hicks! Check the fucking gun!”

 

Hicks glances hesitantly from Gavin to Kamski.

 

“Um...”

 

“Stop being a useless piece of shit and check to see if it’s jammed!” Gavin commands. “Then we’ll know if this asshole’s fucking around with us!”

 

“Do it, Hicks. Whatever the outcome, I expect my brother is more than capable of pulling the trigger,” Kamski says.

 

Hicks glances with trepidation, fear on his face as he steps to the left side of Nines. He’s petrified of the mutilated gangster, that much is clear, and the dirty look Nines is giving him only seems to make the detective shake harder. With a deep breath, Hicks leans forward to take the gun from his hand.

 

Gavin glances at Ralph, who’s been quiet this entire time. The gangster meets his gaze and all Gavin has to do is flick his eyes to the two men standing opposite of Kamski for understanding to shine in the younger man’s eyes.

 

As Hicks grasps the unloaded revolver, Gavin opens his right hand and the bullet he’s been holding clatters loudly to the table.

 

Then everything falls into chaos.

 

With his single hand, Nines grabs Hicks by the back of his head and slams his face into the table. The sound of his nose cracking against its metal surface has Gavin visibly flinching, as he’s had his own share of broken noses and knows that one’s gotta be hurting, but that’s about as far as his empathy goes. Blood spurts down Hicks’ chin as he struggles in Nines’ grip but Nines repeats the maneuver a second time, knocking the detective out cold.

 

Meanwhile, above Hicks’ cry, the sound of a gun firing can be heard and one of the other thugs goes down. The one still standing fires at Ralph, who ducks out of the way and pulls Connor with him, using the nearby crates as cover. This, however, leaves them open to Kamski, who’s already taking aim at them. But Gavin doesn’t let him, fires, hitting the crime boss in the shoulder. The gun he’s holding clatters to the floor.

 

Sliding across the table, Gavin fires another two shots as Kamski bolts towards the hallway. Both miss and the moment his feet hit the floor, Gavin’s already pursuing the crime boss, sprinting towards the door. Though his side aches from the spill he took earlier, his ribs screaming with each expansion of his diaphragm, he’s running on adrenaline and quickly gaining ground. He bursts through the hallway, sees Kamski pivoting to disappear around the corner. He fires one more shot, only just misses the gangster’s foot, the bullet hitting the wall.

 

“You’re not getting away this time, asshole!” Gavin shouts, as he rounds the corner.

 

With Kamski only a few yards ahead, Gavin aims and hits the back of the gangster’s knee. Kamski cries out in pain and falls to the ground. Crimson stains his tailored pants, oozing from the wound, yet it doesn’t stop him from making an escape.

 

He tries to crawl away from Gavin, dragging blood behind him, but the detective fires dangerously close to the crime boss’ head and snaps, “Don’t you fucking move!”

 

Finally, he goes still.

 

“I would rethink your threats, _brother_ ,” Kamski says, infuriatingly calm. He slowly turns to face Gavin, the detective keeping his gun aimed at the crime boss, who uses his good arm to lift himself into a sitting position. Though bleeding from both his shoulder and knee, he still manages to look put off as he fixes a cool, displeased look at Gavin. “You seem to forget _who_ you’re dealing with.”

 

“You and I might have the same blood but you’re not my fucking _family,_ ” Gavin says, clutching the pistol firmly as his finger slides in warning against the trigger.

 

“Deny it all you want, you’re as much a Kamski as I am.” Seeing the disgust on Gavin’s face, the gangster smirks. “A pity you’ve thrown your lot in with those incompetent morons: I could have given you _everything_.”

 

“Been getting along just fucking fine without your handouts.”

 

“You would’ve been _dead_ were you not my sibling,” Kamski says, fixing his cool gaze on Gavin. The mirth in his eyes makes the detective’s grip on his gun waver. “Did you really think Nines had initially targeted you for a quick fuck? You were a _hit_ and the only reason you’re still alive is the blood flowing through your veins.”

 

It fills his chest with a cold, empty sensation, a numbing sadness to think that Nines would have just as easily killed him as he had Gonzales, Murphy, and everyone else Kamski has added to that list. To know that it’s the pure chance of their connection that spared him. There had never been anything special about him that caught Nines’ eye, even if Nines feels differently now. Nines would have killed him for a paycheck.

 

It hurts. And perhaps it will never stop hurting.

 

But Gavin isn’t naive enough to indulge his self-deprecation, not with Kamski trying to manipulate him and catch him off guard. He’s done with all the games and will no longer let anyone use him like a pawn on their chessboard.

 

“Face it, Detective: you _need_ me. You can try tossing me in prison, but I’ll get back out. And without my protection, you’ll be the first person my men will target. So do the right thing: let me escape and I may be willing to overlook this little mistake.”

 

Gavin falls into silence, as if contemplating what Kamski’s saying. But all he sees in his head is the brutal mutilation of Nines, the manipulation of Connor who had only been trying to keep his brother alive, and the death of Gonzales for trying to do the right thing. All of them made their choices but they were backed into a corner by Kamski and each of them paid a price.

 

With an angry sneer, Gavin shoots Kamski in his other knee. The crime boss cusses, pain etched in his face, and Gavin feels a satisfaction that nothing can match at watching the asshole suffer at his feet.

 

“Fucking bold of you to think I’m letting you make it outta here alive,” Gavin says, shoving the gun roughly in the gangster’s face. His laugh is a cold and hollow sound to his ears but there’s warmth that twists in his chest as, for the first time ever, he sees something of fear pass briefly in Kamski’s eyes. One more bullet in the clip and fuck does he want nothing more than to put it in this asshole’s skull, end all this shit once and for all.

 

“You wouldn’t kill your own brother, Detective Reed,” Kamski says, quietly, though there is no confidence in the declaration, a waver as he stares hard at the barrel aimed at him point blank. “Especially a man who’s unarmed.”

 

It’s a manipulative ploy, one that hits at what little integrity Gavin has left. He’s reminded once more of the shared features of their faces, of a passing resemblance that’s only made more obvious the longer Kamski stares up at him. Somewhat belatedly, it strikes him that he’s pointing his gun to _kill_ the only living relation he has and he suddenly feels sick.

 

Gavin’s always been able to look the other way when some of the worst pieces of shit he’s ever met get killed. Zlatko, Murphy...those assholes had done things that made them more suited for the electric chair than living off the taxpayer’s dollar for a lifetime in prison. Gavin is more than happy that Nines killed them, so long as his own hands are without blood.

 

But, though he’d much rather see Kamski dead than abuse the system, he _can’t_ pull the trigger.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and Gavin feels _his_ gaze before he even hears him approach. Dress shoes click in the hallway behind him, their ominous echo the steady knock of the Reaper come to collect his dues. The triumphant smile Kamski’s wearing on his face slowly disappears.

 

If he was afraid before, he’s absolutely petrified now as a tall shadow falls across the pair.

 

“You’re right,” Gavin says, lowering his gun. A malicious smirk forms on his lips. “I wouldn’t. Don’t have the stomach to kill a spineless asshole like you.”

 

Nines grabs Kamski roughly by the collar of his shirt.

 

“But I’m not the one who’s gonna do it.”

 

“No! Y-you can’t—Gavin!”

 

Kamski tries to kick and twist out of the gangster’s grip, screaming and begging for Gavin to help him. Gavin, who can’t stand the distress in Kamski’s voice, looks away as Nines drags Kamski down the hallway, tracks of blood leaving behind a clear path. Nines barks a command for the crime boss to be quiet and it’s only with the shutting of one of the office doors that his cries become muffled, very quickly turning into painful screams.

 

Gavin inhales slowly, calms the erratic pounding in his chest. He’d like to think he has more pity for what Kamski’s to endure in his final minutes alive but all Gavin feels is relief. The world’s about to be rid of one less asshole who made it worse.

 

“Gav, where’s Rich? I saw him come...”

 

Connor’s voice trails off as he hears the screams coming from up ahead, the single light in that end of the hallway seeming to flicker ominously. The lieutenant pales, eyes widening as he realizes what’s happening and begins to walk towards the sound of the screams.

 

He makes it not two steps before Gavin shoves Connor roughly against the corridor wall, pinning him.

 

“Let me go, Gav! I need to stop this!”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Con!” Gavin snaps, throwing all his weight against the lieutenant.

 

Connor struggles and in most situations, he’d be able to easily maneuver his way out of Gavin’s grip. But Gavin’s running on the last of his adrenaline and the muscle he’s gained since last Connor saw him works to his advantage. “Kamski belongs in prison!”

 

“You know if we try and arrest him, he’ll be back on the street in days!” Gavin says heatedly. “Fuck sakes, Con, he’s gotten away for years because there’s always someone to take the fucking fall for him!”

 

“This isn’t _right,_ Gav! You know it isn’t!”

 

“Neither’s letting that prick walk away from this! How many fucking more people have to die before you give a shit?!”

 

“I give a _shit_ when the person getting their hands dirty is my brother!” The fury in his watery gaze is enough to have Gavin loosen his grip, the lieutenant’s voice breaking as he says, “Hasn’t Rich been used _enough?!_ He doesn’t need this weighing on him, too!”

 

“You know damn well he’s in there because he wants to be and he’s giving that asshole exactly what he deserves!”

 

He lets Connor go, who deflates and falls back against the wall. The screams cease just as Ralph joins them and in spite of it all, Gavin feels a chill creep down his spine. The silence can only mean one thing.

 

_He’s gone. He’s finally fucking gone._

 

He’s trying not to think of the role he’s played in his brother’s death. His hands are clean but even as he stares down at them, he imagines Kamski’s blood dripping off his fingers onto the warehouse floor.

 

Silent tears are slipping down Connor’s cheeks but the lieutenant says nothing.

 

“Did Ralph help?”

 

It startles Gavin out of his morbid thoughts.

 

The younger gangster looks expectantly at the detective.

 

Swallowing his discomfort, Gavin forces the horrific images his mind is constructing aside as he gives the gangster a small smile. “Yeah, Ralph did.”

 

Ralph beams at that, looking way too fucking jovial considering all the shit they just went through. But maybe that’s the kid’s way of dealing with all the bullshit tossed his way. Gavin’s torn somewhere between wanting to scream in anger and put his fist into the nearest object, or shun the rest of the world and spend a week in bed crying. Fuck everything.

 

The door up ahead opens and Nines appears in the hallway. The light flickers, bathing his bloodied, mutilated face in eerie shadow. The fresh splotches of crimson that are splattered across his ruffled shirt are all the evidence Gavin needs of Kamski’s grisly end. The frenzied ire in his single eye as he fixes his gaze on the three of them turns Gavin’s blood to ice. But there’s a clarity that makes his expression soften as his eye meets Gavin’s, as if he’s only now seeing the world in front of him. With his remaining hand, he closes the door behind him with a quiet _click._

 

“Rich...”

 

Connor’s voice shakes as he says his brother’s name.

 

Without waiting for a response, Connor’s closing the distance, throwing his arms around his younger twin. He fights to hold back a sob, clinging tightly as Nines returns the embrace. It takes a moment for the gangster to relax the tension in his shoulders, though Gavin suspects it’s exhaustion more than a desire to express affection that has him indulging Connor.

 

“I would not go in there,” Nines says, quietly.

 

Ralph is grinning and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he joins the two. It’s only Gavin who remains rooted to the spot, the chaos of the emotions filling his chest leaving him too conflicted to move. He’s relieved and furious, disturbed and shattered and he hasn’t quite processed any of this, doesn’t know if he wants to throw Nines against the nearest surface and yell at him for all the ways he’s fucked up Gavin’s life or kiss him hard and beg him to not do risky shit again, like put a fucking chip in his brain.

 

He tries to move, takes only half a step before Gonzales’ face flashes in his mind. And it’s as if his chest is being slowly carved open, the serrated edge of a blade peeling away his flesh for how raw the knowledge of _whose_ hand played a role in her death leaves him.

 

Gavin won’t even look at Nines, though he’s aware of the physical pain Nines must be in, and part of him wants to take care of those wounds or, at the least, comfort him. But his fury is so overpowering, he refuses to meet Nines’ eye.

 

“We need to get you to a hospital!” Connor says.

 

“I do not _go_ to hospitals,” Nines answers, as if basic medical care is beneath him. “There is someone I intend on visiting later to dress my wounds.”

 

“Is Nines going to see Lucy?” Ralph asks, excitedly.

 

“...I was attempting to maintain some discretion.”

 

“Can Ralph take Nines?!”

 

“You need immediate attention, Rich,” Connor admonishes him, ignoring the other gangster. “You should have your arm and face looked at—”

 

“I am more than aware of _what_ Kamski took from me and can do without the reminder,” Nines snaps, Connor striking a nerve. “A more pressing issue is what to do with a warehouse full of bodies. We are far too injured and haven’t the time to dispose of them properly. I suggest we burn this place down.”

 

He pushes away from Connor, stands to his full height on his unsteady legs. Stars are practically shining in Ralph’s eyes as he whispers, “Can Ralph start the fire?”

 

“If Ralph can make it look like an electrical fire then, yes, Ralph can start the fire.”

 

No one should look that fucking happy about committing arson but Nines may as well have told the kid he’d won the lottery. Already, Ralph is gleefully rushing past Gavin and back to the main storage area.

 

As Nines approaches Gavin, the detective forcefully turns away, following after Ralph. “Let’s just get this shit over with.”

 

His dismissive tone makes him feel almost worse and there’s noticeable sorrow in Nines’ demeanor, who otherwise doesn’t try to say anything to Gavin. From a quick glance over his shoulder, Gavin sees an angry look on Connor’s tear-stained face, lips parted to most likely reprimand him but Nines is shaking his head.

 

Fuck, Gavin’s almost as mad at Connor as he is with Nines. But right now, he just _can’t._

 

Ralph is already walking the perimeter of the room, hyper focused as he assesses the wiring and outlets used in the old building. Gavin finally gets a good look around, notes the two fresh bodies and Hicks laying motionless on the floor. With the blood and bullet wounds, it’s clear the other two are dead. A quick once over at the downed detective and Gavin can see Hicks is simply out cold.

 

“What we gonna do ‘bout this asshole?” Gavin asks.

 

A gun shot rings through the air, Gavin jumping back a few paces as it finds its mark in Hicks’ forehead. As blood pools near his feet, Gavin once again feels an iciness inside of him.

 

“Did you really have to do that?” Connor demands, glancing between the now dead cop and his brother with trepidation.

 

“We cannot risk him reporting the events of this night to his precinct,” Nines says, coolly. “If it puts your conscience at ease, he used to frequent one of Murphy’s brothels known for its trafficked women. Hicks was said to have rather...sadistic tastes.”

 

Given how often Gavin caught the asshole creeping on women at work, he’s not surprised. But it doesn’t change how unsettling it is to watch Nines kill without a second thought. How can he love someone like this?

 

“Ralph’s figured it out!” the younger gangster calls down from up above, excitedly. The catwalk creaks beneath his weight, making Gavin anxious the more he watches Ralph move about enthusiastically up there.

 

“Hey, uh, maybe try not to break something up there,” Gavin says to him.

 

“But Ralph’s gonna burn everything!”

 

“I meant...ya know what? You do you.”

 

“We had best retreat a safe distance from this building,” Nines advises.

 

With Connor helping him along, the three of them leave through the main entrance. It takes a good ten minutes to make it to where Connor left his car, the chill of the night biting at Gavin’s face. The going’s a bit slow and incredibly awkward, with Nines pissed at Connor, Gavin enraged at both of them, and Connor wilting beneath the ire silently being directed at him. No one says a word and once they reach the car, Ralph’s already trotting towards them and the warehouse is up in flames.

 

“It’s burning!” Ralph says, hopping with glee. “Ralph made it burn!”

 

“You did well tonight, Ralph,” Nines says, leaning against the car, his expression neutral and his words careful, almost as if he’s concerned with giving his subordinate too much praise.

 

Ralph, however, is grinning from ear-to-ear. “Ralph will get his car! Ralph can take Nines to Lucy!”

 

The gangster sprints off down the road, a loud _BOOM!_ coming from the warehouse as part of the roof collapses. Connor glances nervously at the burning building.

 

“We won’t have much time before emergency services respond.”

 

“You sure about that? This area’s pretty secluded,” Gavin says.

 

“I’d estimate we have maybe thirty minutes.”

 

Gavin shivers, the thin layers he’s wearing not suitable for the weather. When he left home earlier tonight, he’d only intended on having to make the quick jaunt from his car to the gym. Looking at Nines, he sees the injured gangster had lost his coat at some point and was now only in his bloodied and torn suit. Despite the low temperatures and missing appendage, Nines doesn’t let any of his discomfort show.

 

It suddenly doesn’t matter how pissed and hurt Gavin is. In that moment, he can’t help but take pity on Nines.

 

“Hey, Con? Pop the trunk.”

 

Gavin goes around to the back of the SWISH and starts fishing around for what he’s looking for. It takes only seconds to find the first aid kit, Connor as predictable now as he’s always been, and even if the asshole’s been making shady deals, it’s good to know at least some things haven’t changed.

 

Gavin returns to see the twins arguing in hushed whispers, Connor fuming but cutting himself off as he notices the detective. Great, more fucking secrets. Not like Gavin’s not fucking sick of those.

 

“We will continue this discussion at another time,” Nines says, glaring at his brother.

 

Gavin sets the kit on the hood of the car. Nines shoots his brother another venomous look and Connor sighs, pulling out his phone and walking a few paces from the vehicle. “I should get back to Hank before he worries about me.”

 

“It would be a shame if Hank were to accidentally overhear about your failed backdoor deal with Kamski,” Nines says, loudly, earning him a dirty look as Connor moves farther away from them to make his call. Connor covers the phone with one hand as he holds it to his ear and uses the other to make a rude gesture at Nines. Nines returns it by flipping him off.

 

Watching the brothers be so petty with each other, Gavin feels a tightness in his chest. But the feeling quickly passes as he knows that whatever bond they have—one that had Connor even risk a friendship—is something Gavin would never have had with Kamski.

 

In many ways, that almost makes the fact he shared DNA with that fucker even more repulsive.

 

“Had I my other hand, I would be using that one as well,” Nines says, lowering it.

 

Gavin doesn’t say anything, uses more force than necessary to open the kit. A roll of gauze rolls to the ground and he cusses under his breath as he retrieves it.

 

“I know you’re upset—”

 

“Don’t even fucking start with me!” Gavin snaps, grabbing some disinfectant. He leans in close to Nines, closer than he wants to be, because seeing the severity of what’s been done to the gangster’s face chips at his fragile control, with nearly the same force as each of Nines’ lies has chipped away his trust. All that’s left is the dust from those broken foundations and it feels as if each time the gangster speaks, what’s left of that dust scatters to the wind.

 

With his gaze swimming, Gavin dabs at some of the shallower cuts on Nines’ face, the gangster not even grunting as the alcohol burns at his marred flesh. But after having a limb and an eye removed, Nines probably barely notices his own discomfort.

 

“So I suppose we are not discussing our issues? That has worked quite well for us thus far,” Nines remarks sarcastically.

 

Gavin practically jabs the disinfectant wipe against one of the harsher cuts, taking some minor pleasure from the almost imperceptible pull at the corner of Nines’ mouth. “Our ‘issue’ is that you fucking lie about everything. You didn’t think to fucking mention I’m a god damn Kamski? Because that shit would have been nice to know!”

 

“I have little idea _when_ would have been an ideal time to tell you. I had not seen you for days because we were both being monitored and it hardly seemed an appropriate thing one sends by text,” Nines answers, his condescending tone the last thing Gavin wants to hear.

 

Gavin tosses the wipe in the kit and pokes Nines hard in the chest. “I don’t fucking care _how_ you told me: don’t fucking treat me like I’m being a fucking child when you fucking lied again!”

 

“I had not _lied._ I had simply avoided information that had not seemed pertinent to mention since the last time we were together, you were _inside of me_ ,” Nines hisses.

 

The detective colors at the mention of their intimacy but if Nines had hoped to throw Gavin off, it only makes him angrier as every promise Nines had pressed to his skin has been broken once more with his deceit.

 

“Avoiding shit is the same as lying! Fuck, if you had texted me about Gonzales, I coulda stopped her. M-Maybe I could’ve...”

 

His voice breaks and he has to look away, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling. He doesn’t want this to be what has him cracking, doesn’t want to indulge the sobs he’s kept at bay all night. Because he knows that once he starts crying, he won’t be able to stop.

 

He’s so fucking drained. And that’s what being with Nines has always made him: an erratic, emotional mess.

 

“If I had known of her relevance to you, I would have informed you,” Nines says and it’s maybe the closest he’s ever come to expressing regret over one of his hits. “That was a miscalculation on my part. I had never intended to hurt you.”

 

“Yeah, well, you fucking did!” Gavin says angrily. “You’re always doing this kinda shit!”

 

“Darling—”

 

“Don’t fucking call me that! Not when you can’t even look me in the fucking eye and tell me you don’t regret what you did to her!”

 

Nines tries to reach for Gavin’s hand, which he angrily slaps away, the detective taking a step back from him. “I cannot express regret when I do not feel it. I did what I thought I had to in order to keep Kamski from getting suspicious. I am, however, sorry that my actions have hurt you. Gavin, I—”

 

“You’re always so fucking _sorry_!” Gavin says, his voice shaking, “But you never fucking change! You say all this shit to make me think you’re gonna fucking _try—!”_

 

“I _am_ trying!” Nines says, his voice hoarse as it hitches in desperation. “But it takes _time_ —!”

 

“Honesty isn’t some fucking chore you can get around to later! All this time when you coulda said something and didn’t, you were making a fucking choice!”

 

“I cannot change the past, I can only try harder—”

 

“Maybe I don’t want you to fucking try!” Gavin shouts, his anger escalating until he’s trembling with it. He knows he’s treading on thin ice, feels the cracks beneath the weight of all the deception that’s pulling him back into the cold depths of the Detroit River. It’s too dangerous to swim against the current yet the longer he allows Nines to hold him beneath the surface, the longer he’s left drowning in the grief of what they can never be. “You want us to have some big ‘heart-to-heart’ and get all our dirty baggage out there? How’s this for some fucking truth: no one’s ever made me as fucking miserable as you do!”

 

As soon as it’s out there, Gavin feels a ripple of pain in his chest, as if each thud of his heart threatens to crack the bones in his rib cage. Despite his efforts, he feels a few tears escape and trickle down his cheeks. There’s a raw sadness, one he’s become too familiar with, old wounds fresh with new cuts. There’s only so much he can take, a breaking point that he knows he’s reached. He can only be cut open so many times before he bleeds out.

 

“I’m tired, Nines,” Gavin cries, a sob causing his shoulders to shake, “I’m so fucking _tired_ of this!”

 

The defeat on Nines’ face, the own pain Gavin sees reflected in his single eye, speaks the words his lips will not. There’s no more fight in him, the last of his protests leaving him with a shaky exhale. His response is a broken whisper, barely audible as it spills off his lips. “I know.”

 

And that’s it.

 

It’s over.

 

They both know it is.

 

They don’t say anything else, Nines’ broken promises enough to fill the space between them with a tension that echoes their misery. As Gavin silently cries, he manages to wrap gauze around the wound that had once been Nines’ right eye, a temporary fix until Lucy can look at it. His vision swimming with the tears that won’t stop coming, he knows he’s doing a shitty job of patching Nines up but Nines doesn’t remark on it, is only watching him with a sorrow that makes Gavin feel as if he’s bleeding from the inside.

 

Because he can’t stop himself, his thumb brushes over the light at Nines’ temple, red filling his blurry vision. He lets his touch linger, reluctant to let go. Because he doesn’t want to, even though he knows he has to.

 

When Nines gently swipes away his tears, Gavin leans into the touch. The gangster’s lips part and Gavin’s heart pounds with hope-filled desperation, so eager to accept whatever fallacy will seduce him back to the false belief that Nines is willing to become what Gavin needs him to be.

 

“We should really get...”

 

Connor’s voice trails off as he stares awkwardly between the two of them.

 

Nines drops his hand.

 

Gavin takes a step back, swipes at his eyes hastily. He mutters something, he can’t even be sure what. Connor and Nines begin speaking but their voices are a faraway sound as all Gavin can focus on is the empty, hollow feeling inside of him.

 

Ralph arrives with his car and before Gavin’s really aware of what’s going on, he hears Nines tell the other gangster to bring Gavin back to his apartment. There’s little disagreement, though Ralph does seem somewhat disappointed that he won’t be going to see Lucy.

 

“If memory serves me well, Connor’s driving leaves a lot to be desired. Yet, I trust his SWISH to bring us there in one piece,” Nines assures Ralph.

 

Gavin feels Nines glance at him but doesn’t meet the gangster’s eye. He has a feeling that if he looks at Nines, he’ll crack all over again.

 

_Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you’ll fucking change. Fucking don’t let me leave like this,_ Gavin finds himself silently begging.

 

Even if it’s a lie, he’s weak enough that he’ll accept every one of them if Nines can just make him believe he’s worth another chance. He has no resolve, no self-control: he’s ready to submit himself to Nines, to be used and manipulated as much as the gangster chooses.

 

But Nines doesn’t say anything.

 

He doesn’t say anything as Gavin gets into Ralph’s car, doesn’t even acknowledge the worried look Ralph makes between them. There’s a quiet acceptance in that final ‘goodbye’, a silent, mournful glance, as if he truly believes this is what Gavin wants.

 

_You don’t fucking need him,_ the detective tells himself, because he should. Because the only thing keeping him from begging Nines to forget his confession is the lie he’s feeding himself. _Fucking grow a pair and walk away for good this time. Do it for Gonzales._

 

It’s with renewed anger that he feels the vicious stinging in his eyes, a hardening in his expression. As Ralph pulls away and begins the drive into the city, Nines becoming a pitiful speck in the rear view mirror, Gavin knows that for all Nines is to him, there are some things he may never be willing to forgive.


	13. Try To Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin deals with the aftermath of Kamski's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for your patience! A lot of you left such wonderful feedback from Chapter 12 and I really can't thank you enough for sharing your thoughts on this story. I did my best to try and get back to everyone. To those of you who have been messaging me on Tumblr and letting me rant about these crazy characters: thank you for putting up with my ramblings. I would get into specifics but I will be delaying shout outs since I am attempting to post this chapter on my lunch break ^^;;;
> 
> However, there is one specific person who I would like to thank for sharing their art with me. [DeviantAlice](http://deviantalicee.tumblr.com/) has created some beautiful pieces of work related to this series! [This one](https://deviantalicee.tumblr.com/post/187380534289/he-would-much-rather-be-nines-nothing-than-anyone) is the bullet necklace Nines wears and there's [another one](https://deviantalicee.tumblr.com/post/187426170054/a-t-t-a-c-k-d-o-g-inspired-by-tristinai-s) of RK 900, inspired by the way Nines is depicted in _Bad Decisions_. Thank you so much for making these! If you get a chance, please check out their work and send them your love <3
> 
> Please remember to check the updated tags to make sure you can handle the content in this part.
> 
> And now...the penultimate chapter!

_January 2040_

 

For the next few days Gavin is mostly going through the motions. He attends Gonzales’ funeral, sits at one of the back pews, stone-faced as he listens to Chau’s bullshit speech about her unfortunate ‘accident’. When it’s time for her husband, Martín, to give the eulogy, Gavin can’t even bring himself to look up from his clasped hands, feels as if the truth is painted all across his face. All it would take is for Martín to glance in his direction and the widower would know the role Gavin played in his wife’s death.

 

“Sorry for your loss,” are the most hollow words Gavin has had to utter and he leaves as soon as he’s paid his respects, feels as if he has no fucking right being among honest folk who lost someone who had tried to make this city a better place. Tina is at his side, her arm linking through his, gently guiding him as he walks woodenly to his car. She spent most of last week pissed off at him, especially after the shit he put Rupert through. But being the best god damn friend ever, she set all that aside and offered to come to the funeral with him.

 

“It wasn’t really an accident, was it?” she says, as Gavin fumbles for his keys.

 

They fall into the slush in the parking lot and he cusses, stoops to pick them up so Tina can’t see his face. But she doesn’t have to see his expression, his refusal to say anything confirming what every cop in that church knows.

 

Gavin wipes his keys on his jacket, exhales shakily. As he tries to open his car door, he misses the slot, scrapes the key across the fading paint. They fall from his hand once more and he kicks angrily at the slushy snow, his eyes stinging. Gonzales’ image is in his mind and he can’t bury it with the rest of the trauma from these last few days.

 

“Gav...”

 

He swipes at his eyes, not really seeing what’s in front of him. He’s stooped low, reaching blindly for his keys, when Tina’s hand comes to his shoulder. The gesture alone is enough to make his walls begin to crumble and by the time he stands up, he’s no longer able to hold any of it back.

 

“I fucked up, Chen,” he admits and it’s as much a confession as anything else he can say. He let Gonzales die all because he did _nothing_. “I really fucked up this time.”

 

He’s trembling when she hugs him tightly and he squeezes her back, too drained and broken to give a shit about the chill as they hold each other in the parking lot. There’s no judgment, no resentment, even if Tina does have her reasons to be angry with him. She’s simply there for him and Gavin doesn’t realize how badly he’s needed this, from the only person left in his life he can trust.

 

The morose mood he’s fallen into carries over into the work week. Gavin’s barely functional back at the precinct, running on autopilot through the reports Chau tosses his way. The media has exploded with news of Elijah Kamski’s death, both Chau and Chloe having to issue official statements on the electrical fire that resulted in the burning of the old Cyberlife facility. Gavin can’t even be sure why in the fuck Chau’s not pushing for more of an investigation into how a warehouse suddenly caught fire and killed a handful of ex-convicts and a god damn detective, but the official story is that Hicks died attempting to rescue people from the burning building and so long as no one’s figured out Gavin was there that night, he’s not gonna argue. Let his dead partner get the undeserved glory of a fucking hero. Gavin’s so done with all this, he has zero fucks left to give.

 

Even more annoying, he’s been getting so many fucking voice mails and text messages from Kamski’s lawyer—the fuck’s her name? Philips?—about settling the ‘Kamski estate’. He doesn’t give a shit and finally blocks her number. He’s already got to hear about Kamski every time he steps into the precinct, is conflicted by the guilt and relief he feels over that fucker’s death. He doesn’t need that shit when he’s off duty.

 

So he carries on, working, going to the gym, and then returning to his apartment late in the evenings, mentally and physically beat. He has barely the energy to do much more than lay in his bed, staring dejectedly at his cracked ceiling, and trying to think of everything except the one person who constantly lingers at the back of his thoughts. But no matter how he tells himself he can get through this, he knows that he _can’t_. Even worse, he doesn’t want to. Nines is so ingrained in him that the longer Gavin goes without seeing him, the more visceral that ache inside of him becomes, until it feels as if his flesh is being flayed from the inside-out. It becomes hard to convince himself that the lies are enough to stay away because as far as Gavin’s concerned, Nines can’t do worse than he’s already done so why shouldn’t he give in?

 

It’s not even a week since they last saw each other and it becomes too much. Gavin can’t stand not knowing where Nines is, finds himself impatiently going through the text messages they had sent before all that shit at the warehouse. He feels like garbage for abandoning and dumping Nines when Nines needed him, when for all he fucking knows, Nines could be dying at some shady backdoor ‘hospital’ thinking Gavin hates him. Sure, there’s shit Gavin’s pissed off at but a lifetime of self-loathing has taught him that there’s few people in this world Gavin hates more than himself. And the more he obsesses over it, the more desperate he is to have some sign that Nines is okay.

 

So he types, and deletes, types, and deletes. He repeats this for the better part of the night, huffing in frustration when nothing comes out the way he wants it to. He wants to say _Sorry_ but he’s not. He wants to beg him to forget that last conversation but also doesn’t think Nines should. He wants to say he’s more miserable without him than he could ever be with him but that doesn’t feel quite right. So instead, he settles on, _baby i miss u_ and sends it before he has time to overthink and regret it.

 

His heart drops when he immediately receives a notification telling him it’s not delivered. So he tries again. He ends up trying multiple times, each with the same result. A cold dread bursts in his chest and he gives in and calls the number.

 

“ _The number you have reached is not in service,_ ” comes the automated response over the phone.

 

Gavin’s heart plummets and he feels his eyes begin to prickle. He rubs at them, drops his phone, and curls up on his bed, feeling even worse than when he admitted how unhappy Nines’ deception had made him.

 

_It’s fucking better this way,_ he tells himself.

 

He’s become a master of self-deception, almost as convincing as Nines. With a bit more practice, he’ll swallow every one of his lies until the gangster becomes nothing more than a bad decision and the love bites on his flesh faded until all that’s left is an empty canvas of flesh, more barren than the hollow void inside his chest.

 

Some time later, as Gavin continues to wallow in his own pity, he hears a sound coming from the kitchen. His pulse begins to race, a million thoughts running in his head. There’s only one person on his mind, who has a history of abusing Gavin’s privacy. For once, Gavin wants more than anything for that privacy to be violated.

 

He hops out of bed, rushes out of his room. But that thin thread of hope he has been clinging to snaps when he sees the source of the noise:

 

Socks, curious shit that he is, pawing at the velvet case he knocked off the counter.

 

With a sigh, Gavin bends down and scratches the cat’s chin. “Knocking shit off the counter again?”

 

Socks mewls and he swears the little shit’s smirking at him. The furbag’s lucky he came with a name tag or Gavin would have called him, ‘Asshole’.

 

He flicks his gaze between the old tag on Socks’ collar, a remnant from his last owner, and the case on the floor. Trapped in his own personal limbo, Gavin hadn’t been sure what to do with the gift. Getting rid of it hadn’t seemed right and he kept telling himself it’s because it’s _Socks’_ gift, not his. But that wasn’t the only reason.

 

Socks purrs and rubs his face against Gavin’s hand.

 

It takes less than a minute to remove the tag and replace it with the one Nines had custom made. Seeing the fancy lettering as the expensive piece of jewelry sits on his cat’s neck, Gavin feels his chest constrict. It’s so like Nines to waste so much money on something as stupid as a god damn name tag.

 

“Nines says he’s sorry for threatening to wear your fur, you little shit,” Gavin explains.

 

_Nines says he’s sorry_

 

And it’s as if something in his brain finally clicks.

 

...what has Gavin done?

 

* * *

 

_February 2040_

 

When Gavin first learns that Zlatko’s body’s been found, he doesn’t think much of it. Gavin’s been permanently taken off homicide and with Gonzales gone, the Zlatko case has since been reassigned to someone else. Stewart and Johnson, detectives he knows were Kamski’s, go to the scene and have the body sent for analysis. No one has any fucking clue where the asshole’s head ended up and when it fails to turn up, murmurs circulate in the precinct of how suspiciously similar the handling of Zlatko’s corpse is to that of his deceased nephew’s.

 

That’s when Gavin begins to panic.

 

It’s early in February when Gavin’s called into Chau’s office.

 

“I owe you an apology, Reed,” Chau says, the self-deprecating expression on his face way too fucking smug for his liking. “It seems you were right about Gonzales.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Gavin folds his arms over his chest, glances suspiciously across the desk at the precinct captain. Though Chau speaks as if he ever gave a shit about Gonzales, the detective knows it’s an entire fucking act.

 

“We booked someone last night—a red ice dealer. A real piece of work. It took Stewart and Johnson all night to get this guy to crack but when he did, he said the guy who’s been running their drug op also staged Gonzales’ accident.”

 

Gavin freezes, a sinking dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

 

The smirk on Chau’s face makes Gavin’s heart stop. “You ever hear of someone named Richard Stern?”

 

Within days, an investigation is opened looking into the ‘faulty wiring’ of Gonzales’ vehicle. Most of it is hearsay from three separate confessions from deadbeat drug dealers the Sixth brings in, each claiming that Stern’s been heading the red ice operation in Detroit and that he off’d Gonzales for getting too close to the truth. When forensic evidence of Zlatko’s body returns, Stern’s blood is found on the corpse and he becomes the number one suspect in Stewart and Johnson’s investigation.

 

But that’s only the tipping of the iceberg. A leak to the press connects the deaths of Zlatko, Aleksi, and Gonzales to Stern and by the end of the week, the media’s in even more of a frenzy as they demand to know how Lieutenant Anderson is related with the most wanted man in Detroit. It’s a complete shit show as Connor’s forced to issue a statement and run damage control for growing public disfavor of the DPD.

 

“The involvement of Richard Stern in the red ice operation is currently being investigated by the central department and members of the Sixth Precinct,” Connor says, struggling to keep his expression placid as he addresses the press. “At this point in time, we don’t have enough physical evidence to confirm Stern’s connection with the murders or with the drug ring.”

 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” a member of the press asks, “how do you respond to allegations that the failure of your department to apprehend this dangerous criminal is due to your personal connection with Richard Stern?”

 

Connor begins to sweat and it makes it difficult for Gavin to watch the rest of the press conference on the break room television. “My relationship with my estranged brother is neither relevant, nor has it affected, our investigation. Until we have concrete proof of Mr. Stern’s involvement, we cannot—”

 

Gavin ends up shutting off the television, left in a trance-like state for the rest of the shift.

 

It only gets worse as a re-examination of the evidence from Aleksi’s murder somehow results in connecting Nines to the scene of the crime. Gavin doesn’t have access to that case within the evidence archive but he knows whatever ‘evidence’ Stewart and Johnson claim to have found is utter horseshit, even if it is true. In the disposal of Aleksi, Nines wasn’t sloppy and it’s clear that in the wake of Kamski’s death, someone’s actively working to bury Kamski’s crimes by dumping them all on Nines. All it takes is for Gavin to tune in to one of those morning talk shows, watch as Chloe tearfully purports the kindness and ingenuity of Kamski, the legacy he’d left behind, and Gavin has a pretty good fucking idea _who_ that person is.

 

Just when Gavin thinks he’s taken all that he can on the city wide witch hunt for his ex-lover, he receives the following texts from Tina.

 

[Tina Chen Feb 13 03:48 PM]

_talked to traci today_

 

[Tina Chen Feb 13 03:48 PM]

_theres a hit on nines_

 

[Tina Chen Feb 13 03:49 PM]

_someones paying srs cash_

 

Gavin’s wants to play it off as if he doesn’t give a shit but he knows Tina doesn’t need to be in the room with him to see through his bullshit. He glances cautiously around but with Hicks dead, there’s no one to read over his shoulder and offer unwanted commentary on the crap he texts.

 

[Gavin Reed Feb 13 03:50 PM]

_hw much?_

 

[Tina Chen Feb 13 03:50 PM]

_1 million_

 

And that’s when he knows that shit’s just gotten serious.

 

Swallowing his pride, he contacts Connor. But Connor barely acknowledges his messages, simply says he’s ‘aware’ and advises Gavin to drop it. With the Lieutenant being grilled so much by the media and the public, Gavin gets that Connor wants to distance himself as much from Nines as he can but it kinda pisses him off that he has no fucking clue where or _how_ Nines is doing and Connor’s the last person he knows was with him. It stresses him out so fucking much, he barely sleeps that night and when he does, his sleep is plagued with nightmares of a broken corpse, white titanium flesh and unseeing gray eyes staring emptily into his own. No matter how long Gavin showers, he can’t clean his hands of the memory of the blue blood that had stained them in his dreams.

 

He tells himself he needs a distraction but sitting at a cafe or seeing a movie is hardly an option. It’s February 14th and the romantic ads make him sneer almost as much as the couples. He can’t walk between his vehicle and a building without seeing someone carrying red roses and while he tells himself that shit is stupid, it makes that empty ache inside of him burn anew and think of his own month-old rose that sits on his counter. Something he hasn’t had the heart to throw away. His dumb ass cat had even chewed on the stem of it and it only made Gavin’s eyes glisten.

 

Fucking lying asshole.

 

So he does what other lonely assholes do on the dumbest holiday of the year: nothing special.

 

Unable to bear being alone in his apartment all night, Gavin heads to the gym after work. It’s less busy than usual and Gavin ends up working on his glutes—a fucking lost cause but he’s gonna have a nice ass whether it kills him—and doing some of his usual arm reps. At some point, he strikes a conversation with one of the guys he’s seen there a few times—Nate, a tall and brawny ex-marine who used to be stationed in Germany. Gavin found himself checking out the guy once or twice before but had written him off as brainless and vain, much like most of the men who worked out at his gym. He’s surprised to find the guy’s pretty charming and a bit of a book worm and before long, it’s clear that Nate’s flirting with him. And fuck, does he look like some bronze god who could give Gavin a good pounding.

 

Gavin’s almost disappointed when Nate leaves without getting his number. But after Gavin showers and throws on his outerwear to withstand the freezing jaunt from the gym to his vehicle, he sees Nate lingering near the entrance, finishing off a cigarette.

 

“Hey, Gavin, I know we just met, but,” Nate says, looking somewhat nervous. Christ, no one that fucking good-looking should have any reason to be nervous. “I thought maybe we could...you know, get a drink.”

 

It takes a moment for Gavin to realize he’s being asked out. His stupid brain is running slow but as he processes the words, he feels himself begin to flush, his pulse begin to race. He’s lonely, he’s been miserable, and with all the stress and shit that’s gone on at work, he feels he fucking deserves to lose himself in a pretty stranger. Hell, Nate could turn out to be a real fucking asshole but there’s no way that he can do worse to Gavin in a few hours than in the year-long disaster of an affair Gavin just had with Nines.

 

A Valentine’s Day pity fuck. Gavin could do worse.

 

He’s about to say yes, maybe throw in something suggestive to let Nate know he’s down for a good dicking. But the words are caught in his throat, unable to make it past the lump that’s formed there, and suddenly he remembers the shit he put Rupert through.

 

It’s a rough pill to swallow but Gavin knows that no matter how hard Nate fucks him, there’s only one person who will be on his mind _._

 

Scratching his nose in discomfort, Gavin looks away as he mumbles, “I, uh, have shit to do. Stuff for work. Maybe some other time?”

 

Nate’s disappointed but he takes the rejection with a warm smile, claps Gavin on the shoulder and wishes him a goodnight. Those smiles that Gavin’s welcomed all night suddenly make his stomach turn uncomfortably and he has to force his own as he waves Nate off.

 

Guess it’s just him and his hand on this shitty day.

 

Shaking off the depressing thought, he heads back to his car.

 

The parking lot is poorly lit but Gavin remembers where the worst of the ice patches are and carefully strolls around them. Once inside his vehicle, he inhales shakily and waits for the windows to defrost, his breath condensing in front of his face. An unsettling feeling comes over him, one that’s been growing since he left the gym, and he self-consciously checks the rear view mirror discreetly, not that he expects to see a figure staring at him from the other end of the parking lot.

 

Nothing.

 

Of course there’s nothing.

 

“Fucking getting a grip, Reed,” he mutters to himself.

 

Maybe part of him is disappointed, not that he should like being stalked. But there’s only one person he can think of who would stalk him and the thought only makes him miss the gangster more fiercely.

 

He doesn’t need to back out of his parking spot, drives forward once the windows are clear and heads for the main road. He puts on the radio—stupid fucking love ballads—and gives up flicking through the stations when each one is some Valentine’s Day bullshit.

 

With a sigh, he then grumbles, “What is with all this shitty music?”

 

“Go back to that last one – I rather enjoy Sinatra.”

 

Gavin shouts, nearly swerves into the lane beside him, heart beating wildly in his chest. The thundering in his still healing ribs is almost as angry as his voice as he snaps, “What the _fuck_ , Nines?!”

 

He glances in the mirror, the sound of a lighter flicking as a small flame burns in the gangster’s hand. A cigarette dangles between his lips and as he goes to light it, the flame illuminates his face: the cuts Gavin helped clean two weeks ago have since been stitched and are well on their way to healing, though the damage to Nines’ face is more severe than before. A black patch covers his right eye and with his clean appearance and ironed suit, he looks no worse for wear, though Gavin feels a tremor in his chest as he notes his Detroit Tigers beanie pulled low on the gangster’s head.

 

“You complained about the music—I merely expressed preference for a station that you have otherwise deemed distasteful,” Nines says, putting away his lighter. He inhales slowly, takes a long drag from his cigarette and Gavin knows his eyes should be back on the road but they’re locked on the gangster’s throat, watching that pale skin that peeks above the gangster’s shirt collar.

 

Fuck, does Nines make everything look so seamlessly sexy. Had cigarette companies been allowed to make public ads, all they would have to do is put Nines in it and Gavin can imagine half of America would start smoking.

 

But Gavin’s pissed. And hurt. And fucking _done_ with listening to his dick every time Nines so much as breathes in his direction.

 

“Not that, dipshit. Why the fuck are you sneaking into my car?!”

 

“As the genius behind Detroit’s red ice drug op, it seemed highly inappropriate that I casually approach a detective in a public space,” Nines answers, sarcastically. “Imagine what the media would say if they suspect Detective Reed of colluding with a criminal mastermind.”

 

“Last I checked, you _are_ a criminal mastermind and half the shit the DPD’s blaming on you is shit you actually did,” Gavin snaps, with an eye roll. “Fucking Christ, Nines, you’ve also got a fucking hit on you! The fuck you do to piss off Chloe?”

 

“She is simply protecting Elijah’s image and, consequently, Cyberlife’s reputation. I must admit, it is rather clever of her to utilize Kamski’s network in the way that she has.”

 

“There’s a fucking million dollar hit for your head!”

 

“Or remaining limbs, heart, or perhaps morbid photos of whatever it is the lucky person who kills me decides to do with my corpse,” Nines responds, waving it off as if it’s nothing. It’s infuriating how he seems to not be taking this seriously. “A rather unfortunate outcome that I had not anticipated when Kamski assigned me to oversee the distribution of red ice.”

 

“Every scumbag in Detroit is looking to cash you in and you’re acting like it’s a fucking inconvenience,” Gavin says, beginning to get angry. It’s so much easier to pretend he’s just pissed off when the truth is part of him’s terrified that the second Nines is out of his sight, he’ll be arrested or killed.

 

“Because it _is_ inconvenient. I have learned it is quite difficult to go into hiding when everyone I have ever associated with would much rather collect on that bounty than assist me,” Nines says. The put off scowl on his face makes him look more like a dissatisfied customer who found a fly in his soup than a deadly hitman who’s been blacklisted from his own criminal network. “But you are ignoring the most pressing matter: this music is dreadful and I would much rather be listening to Sinatra.”

 

Gavin angrily flicks to the station, the sound of _I’ve Got You Under My Skin_ filling the car. He’s never cared for Sinatra, doesn’t really listen to much music before the 2010s, but there’s something so frustratingly fitting about this song that it makes his eyes begin to mist. “You really don’t give a shit about any of this, do you?”

 

Nines takes a drag from his cigarette, his single eye catching Gavin’s in the mirror. He exhales and Gavin sees a vulnerability there, the many layers pulling back to give the detective a glimpse into what the gangster’s really feeling. “On the contrary, Detective, I care _very_ much about my situation. However, I see little benefit in panicking or despairing on what I have brought upon myself as it would only add more stress to you.”

 

And as Nines drops his gaze, Gavin gets it: Nines is just as fucking terrified as Gavin is but the asshole’s putting on a nonchalant act because he doesn’t want to burden Gavin with his shit. Because, as far as Nines recalls, Gavin said Nines makes him _miserable_ and the last thing he wants is to add to that misery.

 

“ _I’d sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of havin’ you near,_ ” sings the radio.

 

It’s almost too much for Gavin, who wants to tell Nines he takes all that shit back because he wants Nines to burden him, to lay every single one of his problems on him. To fucking talk _to_ him instead of always acting as if he’s got his shit together.

 

“I’m just as much in this as you are. So don’t give me that shit about wanting to ‘protect’ me. Look where the fuck that got you last time,” Gavin sneers, shutting the radio off.

 

Fuck Sinatra.

 

“It seems you are more interested in having an argument than a conversation.”

 

“Fucking right I am! You fucking ghost me for two weeks and then come back acting like the last time we talked, you weren’t fucking mutilated by my asshole brother!”

 

Gavin slams hard on the breaks to avoid running a red, Nines nearly dropping his cigarette in the process. There’s a dark look on the gangster’s face, his lips curling in a half-sneer and that’s how Gavin knows he’s taken the bait. “Forgive me but I was under the distinct impression you wanted nothing to do with me. In the words of a man I had once slept with, ‘I’m not a fucking mind reader’.”

 

Hearing something Gavin had said to Nines thrown back in his face only riles the detective up more. He zooms through the intersection, barely focused on the well-being of the other drivers. “Just because I dumped you doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit if you fucking die, Nines!”

 

“I clearly misunderstand how you express concern. You seemed to very much ‘give a shit’ for my well-being while you were getting comfortable with that new ‘friend’ of yours.”

 

It takes Gavin a second to realize Nines is talking about Nate.

 

“Fucking Christ, are you serious?!”

 

The snarl on Nines’ face, the way his eye burns with a jealous rage manages to be simultaneously terrifying and satisfying, like the gangster’s yanking an invisible tether and Gavin’s only too happy to be brought to his knees. “It has been less than three weeks and yet you have managed to move on quite quickly.”

 

“You fucking idiot, I turned him down because I’m not fucking over you!” Gavin shouts, his cheeks coloring in shame. He looks back at the road, only just manages to slow down before he rear ends the vehicle in front of him. He’s livid, breathing hard to keep himself from crumbling at the wheel, his heart beating so fast, he half expects it to break through his rib cage. “I’m fucking shit at getting over you and half the fucking time, I don’t even think I want to.”

 

His admission makes him sound as pathetic as he feels and he regrets it the moment it’s out there. A silence falls between them, made more stifling now that there’s no music, and Nines mutters a quiet, “Oh,” which is the closest Gavin’s gonna get to an apology. There’s an uncomfortable tension between them and Gavin doesn’t know how to bridge the gap. Arguing has always been easier but it almost feels like every time they talk, it always starts with a fight and he’s just so fucking tired of fighting.

 

“You here to rub it in my face how much of a fucking mess I am?” Gavin mutters, inwardly wincing. He may be tired but it seems like he just can’t help himself.

 

Nines finishes the cigarette, lowers the window an inch to dispose of it. His response is quiet but it’s clear he’s just as tired of arguing. “Connor informed me that you had been asking about me. He thought, perhaps...you might want to see me.”

 

“You fucking kidding me?” Gavin exhales, tries to keep himself from snapping again. “He made it seem like he had no fucking idea where you were.”

 

The list of shit Connor’s lied about has gotten so long, Gavin wonders how in the fuck he ever believed they were friends.

 

“Do not be angry with him. You seemed as if you genuinely did not want me in your life. I...thought it best if Connor withheld information, especially given that he has had to deal with the press simply because him and I share DNA,” Nines says. “If you must know, for as much as he disapproves of us, he had wanted to update you on my condition after we saw Lucy. I convinced him otherwise.”

 

“So, like always, you keep me in the fucking dark and just expect everything to be okay.”

 

“I am not here to beg you to take me back. Or to help me. You were right when you said I have brought you nothing but misery.”

 

It leaves a coldness in Gavin’s chest that he doesn’t like, the decisiveness in which Nines declares that the broken state of their relationship remain as it is already causing the protest to form on his lips. For as enraging as Nines can be, Gavin doesn’t want the gangster to walk away, can’t bring himself to care if they’re meant to continue this toxic cycle of staying together and breaking up, so long as Nines always comes back to him.

 

“Then if you feel so god damn terrible about making me ‘miserable’, why the fuck are you here?”

 

It comes out more bitter than he intends, Gavin unable to hold back the emotion in his voice. He doesn’t want to know what about him makes him suddenly undesirable to Nines but imagines that him constantly walking out on the gangster has not helped.

 

He begins to turn onto his street when Nines says, “We should continue this conversation somewhere more private. Your parking lot and your building both have CCTV and I would rather there not be visual evidence of us together.”

 

So Gavin continues going straight, heading towards a nearby park that’ll be secluded this time of night.

 

“In answer to your question, Connor insisted I see you one last time,” Nines answers. The finality of ‘one last time’ has Gavin gripping the wheel hard. “He felt you’ve had adequate time to ‘cool down’ and thought it best we part on more...cordial terms.”

 

“Yeah, that’s Con: always the fucking mediator,” Gavin says, rolling his eyes. He glances with trepidation into the mirror, sees the troubled look on Nines’ face. It only makes him feel worse. “The fuck you mean ‘one last time’? Thought I made it clear you don’t need to disappear, Nines. Yeah, I’m pissed, but I’d like to know you’re still fucking alive every now and then.”

 

“There is something you and I should discuss and I would much rather you not be handling a vehicle while we do that,” Nines says.

 

The serious look in his eye has a thick lump forming in Gavin’s throat. He has a feeling he’s not gonna like this conversation.

 

The rest of the short ride is in silence, Gavin reaching the park a few minutes later. The place barely gets any attention when the weather is half-decent, let alone in the coldest month of the year, but Gavin parks his car at the secluded end of the lot, where not even the dim streetlights can reach. He leaves the car running, doesn’t even bother to get out but climbs to the backseat. Nines shuffles aside to make room for him, cautiously leaving as much space between them as the seat will allow.

 

It’s a lot easier to hold back the many things Gavin’s feeling when Gavin has to glance up at a mirror just to see the person he’s talking to. But situated this close, with the hint of Nines’ aftershave and cologne lingering in the air, Gavin’s struck with sudden longing, an almost unconscious response to the very scent of the gangster that always cripples his good judgment.

 

_Why don’t you want me?_ He almost wishes he can ask. He should be asking, _What the fuck am I doing?_ But by now, he knows he’s abandoned common sense when it comes to Nines.

 

Because he still wants Nines, even after everything Nines has done to him.

 

“So, uh, you wanna talk about something?”

 

Smooth.

 

A half-frown appears on Nines’ lips. Now that Gavin can get a good look at him, he sees a particularly vicious scar Kamski cut from Nines’ chin up through the right side of his mouth. The sadistic prick made good on his promise to torture the gangster.

 

Nines glances hesitantly at Gavin before extending his hand. “May I?”

 

He has a million reasons he should be denying Nines this. Memories of a friend linger in his mind and that voice of dissent, reminding him of all the ways this is wrong, urges him to reject the gangster. Yet there’s something almost shy about the way Nines asks that has an even louder voice silencing his reason, enamored by how the gangster seeks explicit permission before attempting physical contact. The lump in Gavin’s throat has become so heavy, he can’t voice his consent, silently nods.

 

Nines gently takes Gavin’s hand, his thumb brushing against the detective’s knuckles. Just his touch alone sends a warm flutter in Gavin’s chest. Nines doesn’t say anything at first, is silent as he holds Gavin’s hand. It’s obvious now that both of them have suffered without each other, that Nines is just as starved for Gavin as Gavin’s been for him. Greedily, Gavin drinks in each passing second before whatever it is Nines has to say ruins the illusion that they’re simply bent and not broken beyond repair.

 

“I...thought you should know, before I do this,” Nines starts, pausing to swallow uncomfortably. He collects himself, stares Gavin straight in the eye and continues, “I’m leaving Detroit.”

 

Gavin feels as if the entire world has stopped spinning on its axis. He can barely find his voice as he utters a question he definitely doesn’t want the answer to. “When?”

 

“Tonight.”

 

As it hits him, his vision begins to blur. He’s tried walking away, tried picturing life without Nines. But they’ve always found their way back to each other, even when Gavin’s made his ultimatums, because he’ll forgive the asshole for anything and Nines can never stay away.

 

But that all changes if Nines is not even here.

 

“When’re you coming back?”

 

Gavin clings to that sliver of hope that it’s only until all this shit’s blown over.

 

But he has the answer before Nines even has to say it. “I’m not.”

 

And it’s just too much for Gavin.

 

Before Nines can stop him, Gavin’s ripping his hand out of Nines’ grip and the accusation is spilling from his lips with a rage he’s unable to tame. “You said you’d stay. You promised me you’d fucking _stay!_ ”

 

“Gavin, this was not an easy decision—”

 

“Bull-fucking-shit! You god damn disappear and then tried to fucking skip town and it took fucking _Connor_ for you to show your fucking face again! Seems pretty fucking easy to me!”

 

“You made it seem as if—”

 

“Don’t you dare turn this shit around on me!” Gavin snaps, quivering with his anger. “You’re always make your fucking excuses because you’re too much of a god damn asshole to own up to the fucking shit you put me through! Well, you wanna fucking leave, then fucking go! See if I give a shit!”

 

The gangster narrows his single eye and Gavin can see his wrath being met with a similar intensity that burns in Nines’ gaze. “Must you always resort to callous declarations every time we try and have a _conversation_?”

 

“If you wanted a fucking conversation, you would’ve not shown up at the last fucking minute to tell me you’re fucking off for good! You ever really give a shit or was I just a convenient piece of ass when no one else would even fucking look at you?!”

 

The words sting and Gavin hopes they do; he hopes they sear as deeply into the gangster’s flesh as every one of his manipulations have scarred into Gavin’s. His eyes well and yet he’s far too driven by his building rage to let the tears spill, even as Nines blurs in front of him.

 

“You are angry,” Nines says, carefully. Whether to try and calm Gavin’s ire or his own, the detective can’t be sure. Nines is always colder than the frost that chases a winter storm and it’s infuriating that Gavin can hear the forced detachment, the facade of apathy the gangster projects. “However, even you must acknowledge your own idiocy if you truly believe you have only ever been _convenient_ to me.”

 

Nines, of course, knows how to get under Gavin’s skin as well as Gavin’s learned to get under his. The detective sneers as he jabs at the gangster’s chest. “So you think I’m a fucking idiot now? I must be to put up with a lying piece of shit who can’t even god damn admit how much of a selfish asshole he is!”

 

“And I must be an imbecile to believe there was any chance of reasoning with someone so full of self-contempt, he would much rather indulge his self-pity than accept the truth of what he is to me,” Nines hisses and Gavin hears the heavy emotion that spills into the gangster’s voice, making it waver with a truth he wishes so badly he could deny. “You recently told me your true feelings regarding us, now here are mine: I can handle pain you can only imagine—I have _endured_ having parts of myself mutilated for the sick amusement of a man I considered my intellectual inferior. And, yet, I would much rather have endured worse and died at Kamski’s hands than ever be forced to give you up.”

 

And it’s there: Nines’ truth. The weight of everything Gavin is to him reduced to a simple confession that pains the detective to hear as much as it pains him to accept. Because it means he accepts all that Nines has done and that not even his current grief will stand in the way of his forgiveness.

 

“I would never willingly leave you, Gavin,” Nines quietly admits, as the detective feels a tear spill off his lashes. “I _can’t._ ”

 

Gavin should let go, tell him to get the fuck out and let Nines walk out of his life for good. Because that’s the only way either of them will break this obsession that has them always running back to each other, poisoning one another and wearing each other down with their noxious codependency. But the longer he remains in Nines’ presence, the more desperation prickles at his skin. That tiny urge that had sprouted from the moment he crawled back here has flourished into a reckless ache and before he can help himself, his lips are finding Nines and he’s crushing them against the gangster’s mouth.

 

At first, Nines barely responds to the harsh kiss, their lips pressed together as Gavin chokes back a sob. But then, it’s as if his frail self-control has shattered as well and Gavin feels them move, offers no resistance when Nines takes him by the hips and pulls Gavin into his lap. An almost feral sound rumbles in the back of the gangster’s throat and Gavin parts his lips to submit himself to the gangster’s tongue, hands steadying himself on the seat behind Nines.

 

He moans into the kiss, won’t even let Nines break it as he chases the gangster’s mouth and plunges his tongue inside. It’s sloppy, wet, urgent—but oh so fucking good and Gavin can’t even believe he almost entertained being with someone else tonight, would have never forgiven himself if he knew he’d have missed out on being here with Nines one last time. Nines knows exactly how much pressure to use, how to slide against and suckle on Gavin’s tongue and lips, steal his very breath until the detective’s unraveling on his lap and panting like a god damn bitch in heat and the asshole’s not even touched his dick yet.

 

Breathing heavily, Gavin presses his forehead to Nines’. His lips are swollen and when he swipes his tongue across them, he tastes copper. Dropping his eyes to Nines’ mouth, he sees that he accidentally reopened the cut he’d been staring at earlier and blood now peppers the gangster’s lower lip.

 

“You’re the worst fucking thing that’s happened to me,” Gavin says and he really does fucking mean it.

 

There’s a hint of a sad smile on the gangster’s lips, his single eye blown with his lust. “I take no responsibility for your terrible choice in men. Though I admit, I have exploited it.”

 

Nines is rock hard, his erection pressing against the back of Gavin’s thigh and fuck does he want to grind down on it but the more sadistic side of him is willing to hold out on Nines, get the asshole desperate and begging for him. God, does he want Nines to tell him how much he wants to sink his cock in Gavin’s ass and if the gangster’s convincing enough, Gavin just may let him.

 

“Guess I have a type: you Sterns really are the fucking worst,” Gavin gasps, lifting his hips as Nines tries to press his cock against the detective’s ass.

 

The gangster growls with impatience, forces Gavin back down on his lap. Gavin has to hold back a whimper as Nines grinds up against him, the gangster’s voice cracking with need, “And you Kamski-Reeds are always making me work for it. You are never simply satisfied with being _desired_ but seem to want to hear it, too.”

 

Christ, is it fucked up that they’ve both fucked each other’s brothers but if anything, it only convinces Gavin he’s with the Stern he wants.

 

“Then let me fucking hear it,” Gavin challenges him, his calloused fingers catching Nines’ tie and loosening it.

 

Nines cocks a brow. “Is that a threat, Detective Reed?”

 

“You wanna find out?”

 

The hunger in his gaze, the rumble at the back of his throat as he gives Gavin this look of unbridled _want_ has desire curling low in the detective’s abdomen. He slowly licks a line from the side of Gavin’s throat to the edge of his ear and Gavin can’t help but quiver in the gangster’s lap. A wolf sampling its next meal. “What I want, Detective, is to fuck you so hard, you will forget the feel of anyone else who has ever been inside of you. Should any other man even _look_ at you, the only thought in your head will be that he can never satisfy you the way _I_ satisfy you. _That_ is what I want.”

 

Gavin’s mouth goes dry, those sultry words smoother than fine whiskey. Leave it to fucking Nines to turn what should have been the gangster begging to bury himself in the detective into a confident declaration of how he’s made Gavin his bitch. If the gangster had it his way, Gavin would be the one begging for it.

 

“You are mine, Gavin Reed. And I intend on making you so full of me, you will never forget the way I feel inside of you.”

 

“...guess I’m gonna need a reminder, babe,” Gavin whispers hotly, yanking the tie undone so it slips off the gangster’s neck. The heat in his eye burns like a wildfire and fuck, does Gavin want to get scorched. “Been months since I’ve had your dick in me.”

 

Six fucking months almost to the day. Not that Gavin’s been counting.

 

“Then we had best remedy that.”

 

He fumbles with the buttons on Nines’ shirt, is less forceful when the gangster clucks in disapproval and manages to get the first two open. A glint of something shiny catches his eye and he stops what he’s doing, settles on Nines lap. The sudden shift in mood makes the gangster also stop as Gavin slowly tugs the chain out from Nines’ shirt.

 

A bullet and a ring-like object dangle from it.

 

Gavin’s eyes flick up to Nines.

 

“I took it back before Ralph blew up the warehouse,” Nines quietly admits. He traces his thumb on the line of Gavin’s jaw and Gavin can’t be quiet sure but he thinks he sees a blush on the gangster’s cheek. “It is something I could never easily part with.”

 

_You are not someone I can easily part with,_ Nines’ eyes seem to say, making Gavin’s heart pound.

 

“I had to replace the chain, of course, after your little... _demonstration._ ”

 

Gavin guiltily glances at the gangster’s neck. He recalls having choked Nines to make Kamski think he was on the crime boss’ side. Swallowing heavily, he brushes his fingers over the skin where the bruises have since faded.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he whispers.

 

He feel like garbage for pretending even briefly he had been taken in by Kamski’s manipulation.

 

Nines gives him a sexy half-smirk, his voice a seductive purr as he nuzzles Gavin’s cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for. Under the right circumstances, I would have found your little display rather... _enjoyable._ ”

 

Gavin’s never considered using that sort of force on Nines but now he’s picturing it, thrown across the bed on his back, legs dangling off the edge. Nines spreading him and pounding his ass so hard that every slap of his thighs against it thunders in the room. And as Nines looms over him, angling so each thrust hits the right spot, Gavin’s fingers close around the gangster’s throat, squeezing and applying more pressure the closer he gets to the edge. He’d cum hard and his grip only relents as Nines is on the verge of passing out, the gangster filling him with so much cum, it dribbles down his his ass cheeks even as Nines continues to empty himself.

 

Fuck, it’s been way too god damn long since anyone’s filled him like that.

 

“Darling, are you alright? You seem a bit distracted.”

 

Gavin shakes away the hot images in his brain, his face growing warm. His chest flutters at the term of endearment and he tries to hide his flush by glancing at the other object on the chain. “Where’d you get this ring?”

 

There doesn’t seem anything particularly special about it but Gavin feels as if he’s seen it somewhere before.

 

Hesitantly, Nines removes the beanie he’s wearing. A bandage covers his temple and it had probably been poking out from the hat but the eye patch had been so distracting, Gavin hadn’t even noticed. Now he knows why he’s seen that ‘ring’ before.

 

“A memento from that ‘voluntary’ experiment Kamski put me through,” Nines answers, Gavin not missing the note of contempt. “I had Lucy remove the chip and Ralph deactivated the LED as a precaution. If Kamski had a device that could track me, I have little doubt such a device could still exist at Cyberlife.”

 

Gavin’s relieved, in all honesty, that Nines has abandoned the mask and the head chip. He had a bad feeling from the beginning about Cyberlife’s experimental tech and his suspicions were only proven true after Kamski tried to melt Nines’ brain with that fucking device. Nightmares of Nines becoming some cyborg-like abomination have haunted his sleep since and Gavin’s not quite sure they’ll ever stop.

 

“You don’t need some fucking mind-control device rolling around in your head,” Gavin says.

 

He drops the necklace, stares earnestly into Nines’ remaining eye. Nines’ fingers toy with the short hairs at the back of his neck, his other arm resting against Gavin’s hip. It’s strange to know his hand is missing beneath the sleeve of his coat, that it will never again trace patterns on his flesh or stretch him open. It saddens him but makes him feel even worse that he obsesses over the selfish ways in which he’s affected by Nines’ missing parts. So he resolves to love the rest of Nines even more fiercely as a ‘fuck you’ to what Kamski tried to take from them.

 

“It was not a mind control device,” Nines points out, with an exasperated huff. The hint of irate mirth on his face has Gavin smirking.

 

“Fine. GPS. Or whatever the fuck you wanna call it.”

 

“I am not a vehicle, Gavin.”

 

“You sure about that, babe?” Gavin whispers, rolling his hips against the gangster’s. Nines releases a breathless shiver and Gavin can’t help himself, his lips all but caressing the edge of Nines’ ear. “Cuz I’m about to ride you.”

 

“... _that_ was hardly as seductive as I imagine _you_ think it is.”

 

But Gavin doesn’t miss the telltale hitch, the one that causes the gangster’s voice to lilt when he’s trying his damnedest to pretend he’s unaffected by Gavin. So Gavin grinds down harder, pressing against the long, thick length of Nines that strains against the seam of his pants.

 

“Says the asshole about to tear through his pants.”

 

“It is difficult to concentrate on much else when you are moving like _that_ in my lap.”

 

“You fucking love it,” Gavin accuses, the words cracking with need as they spill off his tongue.

 

“Correction, Detective: I fucking love _you._ ”

 

And the fierceness in which he makes the declaration, the heat and affection simultaneously shining in his eye, has Gavin kissing him roughly. It’s desperation that makes him pull at the gangster’s clothes, continue what he started earlier, their coats the first to be tossed to the floor of Gavin’s car. With only one hand to work with, Nines needs a lot of assistance but it doesn’t stagger the detective’s need to have bare flesh beneath his hands, his heart pounding in their race to get naked. All the while, Nines’ words echo in his mind, _I fucking love you_ the most honest thing he’s ever said to Gavin. And if it’s the only honest thing Nines says, Gavin will fucking take it.

 

Gavin’s kicking off his pants and underwear, now completely naked by the time he crawls back onto Nines’ lap. The gangster makes an appreciative sound, a hand gripping and squeezing Gavin’s ass as he glances at the detective with a wild hunger in his eye. He kisses Gavin, insistent tongue parting the detective’s lips, his hand moving along Gavin’s flesh and igniting a fire within him that has Gavin groaning with need against Nines’ mouth. Nines isn’t even naked yet, still clad in his unbuckled pants and underwear but with his pale chest exposed, Gavin wastes no time in touching and caressing the skin at his fingertips. As he breaks off the kiss to catch his breath, he drinks in the sight of Nines shuddering beneath him, flicks his thumb across a light pink nipple. The gangster’s left pectoral is all hard muscle beneath his palm and Gavin can feel Nines’ erratic heartbeat, each thump in sync with his own.

 

“You lose weight?”

 

Nines has always been slim but muscular, all hard lines of definition that tapered off to a trim waist. There’s a subtle change hardly noticeable when the gangster is clothed but in the weeks since they were last intimate, Gavin notes the gangster looking slightly skinnier than he remembers. He frowns.

 

“I spent the better part of the last two weeks in recovery from my surgery,” Nines answers, attempting to allay Gavin’s concern with a blasé smile.

 

Gavin’s sure there’s more to it than that, wonders if Nines has been eating regularly while in hiding. But the gangster effectively distracts him by swiping his tongue across one of Gavin’s nipples, circling it before pulling the dusky bud between his lips. With a salacious suckle echoing in the confined space of the backseat, Gavin gasps and grips at the gangster’s hair, arching his back. The feel of teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh has Gavin struggling to swallow a whine.

 

“B-babe,” Gavin moans, bucking his hips and jabbing his cock against Nines’ firm abdomen. He yanks back Nines’ head, steals another wet kiss from the gangster, smearing dribbles of pre-cum on Nines’ stomach. It only makes the gangster kiss him harder, Nines pressing up against Gavin’s bare ass, and the detective can feel how badly Nines wants to bury his giant cock inside of him, the thin material of his boxer-briefs the only barrier between them. Gavin’s name is a breathless command panted against his lips, dark pool of lust thinning the gray ring in his eye as Nines gazes at him wantonly.

 

Gavin lifts his hips, balancing carefully on his knees, getting far too much enjoyment from rubbing his dick against his lover’s skin. Quivering with need, Gavin presses his lips chastely to the top of Nines’ head, feels Nines lick a path between his pectorals. The gangster then nips at Gavin’s flesh, hard enough to pepper his skin with marks. Gavin hopes they take weeks to heal.

 

“Y-You kinda look like a pirate,” Gavin jokes, shivering when Nines blows on a patch of licked skin. The playful banter also helps to calm the mood, Gavin embarrassed to find his dick’s running a marathon and eager to finish first. Fucking Christ, Nines has hardly touched him yet and asshole’s already got him way too worked up.

 

The gangster looks nonplussed as he flicks his single eye upwards. “I am _not_ a pirate, nor do I appreciate being compared to one.”

 

“You could get a hook. It’d be really badass.”

 

“Gavin…”

 

“Yarr,” Gavin says, attempting a sexy wink. He, of course, does it with both eyes.

 

...yeah, still a work in progress.

 

Nines makes an annoyed sound but Gavin doesn’t miss that hint of a smirk, the affection evident in the way he looks at the detective. “ _That_ would be something much more easily accomplished if you were without both eyes.”

 

And to make his point, he winks.

 

Sexy, cocky motherfucker.

 

“No fucking fair, that shit’s even easier for you now,” Gavin complains, _not_ pouting.

 

“I have _always_ possessed this relatively unremarkable talent, even before acquiring my most recent ‘disadvantages’,” Nines points out, poking Gavin in the chest.

 

_Disadvantages?_

 

Gavin then notices that Nines’ right arm isn’t touching any part of him. In fact, since removing his coat and shirt, Nines has kept his arm turned away from Gavin so that not even his knee will bump it. Even as he sees Gavin looking at his arm, the gangster tenses in obvious discomfort.

 

“Can I…?”

 

There’s a frown on the gangster’s lips and Gavin half expects a negative answer. “I do not understood why you would want to.”

 

He doesn’t voice consent but brings his arm closer, apprehension on his face.

 

Gavin runs his hand down Nines’ bicep, who flinches involuntarily as he rests it near the gangster’s elbow. Too close to where part of his limb is missing, the edge of the fresh bandage at the detective’s fingertips. Nines shouldn’t be so damn self-conscious: he’s got Gavin naked and writhing in his lap, hard and thirsty for the gorgeous asshole. He should know by now Gavin’s never going to judge him for what he perceives as his ‘disadvantages’.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

It’s such a fucking stupid question, Gavin colors in embarrassment.

 

But Nines does not seem offended, slowly relaxes as Gavin traces gentle patterns on the edge of the bandage. With trepidation, he rests his arm on Gavin’s thigh, wearing a somber expression. “It does not. Not anymore. I...sometimes, I feel them. My fingers. And when I am unable to move them, I begin to panic. Then I remember that they are no longer there.”

 

The quiet confession has Nines turning away from Gavin and he can tell the gangster’s ashamed to admit this. As if it somehow makes him weaker.

 

Gavin lifts his forearm, brushing his lips where bandage meets flesh. “Doesn’t change anything.”

 

“It changes _everything._ You cannot possibly understand how I wish I could touch you,” Nines whispers and it sounds more like an apology than a desire.

 

“You’re touching me right now,” Gavin says, resting his cheek against his arm.

 

“That is not what I...”

 

But Gavin’s determined to not let Nines think any less of what they do together so the gangster doesn’t bother finishing the thought, merely sighs.

 

Gavin releases Nines’ arm, scoots closer to bump his nose against the gangster’s. His hot breath falls against the gangster’s lips as he whispers, “Don’t need another god damn hand. Your gorgeous ass has almost got me blowing my load without it.”

 

“Perhaps you have developed lower stamina in my absence,” Nines teases.

 

“Ouch, babe. Fucking, ouch.”

 

“I would also reconsider which of us has earned the title ‘gorgeous’ as I am not the one with many admirers,” Nines remarks. He’s trying to be offhand about it but Gavin hears the self-pity in Nines’ voice, as if all it will take is some random handsome face to make the detective forget what they have.

 

Gavin takes Nines’ face in his hands, cradling it gently. “C’mon, Nines. You know I don’t give a shit about them. You’re the only one I fucking want.”

 

He’s careful as he kisses the gangster’s cheek, trails his lips down to the gangster’s neck. It aches to think that he doesn’t know if he will ever get to do this again and his eyes begin to sting as he teases the pale flesh before him. The hand on his hip tightens its grip, a gentle exhale caressing the edge of Gavin’s ear.

 

“You must really like pirates,” Nines groans, and throws his head back to give Gavin better access to his throat.

 

Gavin licks between two freckles, dropping a hand between them to caress Nines’ clothed erection. A wet spot has formed where the thick head of his dick strains against his underwear and Gavin circles his thumb over it.

 

“Thought you weren’t a pirate.”

 

Nines presses himself up against Gavin’s hand, his body begging the detective for more. Gavin’s fingers slip inside, grasping the full shaft.

 

“You have also mistakenly referred to me as a—ah!—robot. I have given up correcting you.”

 

He drops his head forward as Gavin frees him from his pants, his groan buried in the detective’s shoulder. Gavin shifts his hips to press his dick against Nines’, a low groan escaping his parted lips. It feels fucking amazing to rub them together, and Gavin doesn’t know how he survived weeks without this, can’t imagine going who knows how god damn long after tonight so he forces the troubling thought from his mind. Instead, he focuses on the moment, strokes them both in his firm grip, harsh exhales mingling as his hand slides up and down. His balls are so tight, that need for release growing steadily as he touches both of them and how easy it would be to let go, jack them both off until he’s painting their chests in hot cum.

 

But Nines has other ideas, only letting Gavin get in a few strokes before he’s tugging Gavin’s hand off their cocks. Gavin releases a small whine, bucking against Nines in protest.

 

“N-not like this,” Nines shudders in a heated whisper, grabbing Gavin roughly by his hip to keep the detective from grinding their dicks together.

 

“B-babe...f-fuck...”

 

Nines’ tongue catches the drool that’s pooled at the corner of Gavin’s lips. It’s so deliciously dirty. “I believe we have already decided I will be cumming inside of you. I hope, for both our sakes, you have lubricant in this car.”

 

“...does motor oil count?”

 

Nines glares at him.

 

“...cuz you’re a car and I’m gonna—”

 

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘ride you’, I am putting my clothes back on and exiting this vehicle,” Nines warns.

 

Gavin smirks. “Relax, babe. You need to take that stick out of your ass.”

 

“Is now really the time to be testing my patience?” And to make his point, Nines grasps Gavin’s cock and gives it a firm stroke. “The only thing that should be in anyone’s ‘ass’ is my cock inside of yours.”

 

The detective groans at the back of his throat, thrusts forward into Nines’ hand. For a moment, he loses himself in that perfect grip. “G-Glove compartment. Sh-Should be some l-lube.”

 

Nines stops touching him and now it’s Gavin’s turn to frown. The cheeky asshole has the nerve to smirk at him in bemusement. “The lubricant is not magically going to appear in the backseat if you do not retrieve it, Detective.”

 

With a grumble, Gavin turns around and stretches over the center console. Though his car’s still running, the glow from the panel illuminating the driver’s seat in a faint, blue glow, Gavin finds he needs to feel around for the latch that opens the glove compartment, going off of memory. Just as he hears it click open, Gavin’s pushed forward, his knees hitting the back of the seats. He cusses loudly, tries to right himself, but then he feels fingers spreading him and something wet slide against his hole. Gasping, he drops his head to bury his sounds in the worn fabric of the passenger seat as Nines slowly licks him open.

 

The gangster suddenly stops. “I want to hear you, Gavin.”

 

It’s not a request. It’s a fucking command and Gavin’s complying.

 

Nines’ name tumbles shakily from his lips, his thighs quivering as he feels globs of saliva dribble from where the gangster laps his tongue against his asshole. Nines is getting him nice and wet, pressing in only enough that the tip of his tongue tickles against his sphincter, always backing off as Gavin pushes back against his face. Fucking tease is making him drip and won’t even properly open him.

 

“B-babe,” Gavin whines, his nails scraping against the seat, “f-fucking eat my ass out already.”

 

“And why should I do that?” Nines answers.

 

He catches saliva on his fingers tips, smears it on the back of Gavin’s balls as the detective once more tries to arch back into his face. Nines then responds by slapping Gavin’s ass hard enough that the detective falls forward once more, his skin stinging. Fuck, does it hurt in all the right ways and he knows that’s gonna leave a mark.

 

“P-Please, babe,” Gavin tries again, his knees buckling.

 

He bites down on his lip as Nines soothes the angry flesh with his hand. Teeth nibble on his other cheek, gently pulling a chunk of olive skin into his mouth. And then, the gangster’s biting down. Hard.

 

“F-fuck!”

 

Gavin tenses, his dick rubbing the center console. An explosion of pain eases into a pleasurable thrill as Nines releases him and Gavin’s heady off the knowledge that he’ll be wearing bruises in the shape of the gangster’s teeth.

 

“I do not see why I should indulge you,” Nines says, his voice cool. His finger circles Gavin’s hole, making no attempt to enter him, “when you have failed to do something as simple as give me the lubricant I requested.”

 

Gavin blindly reaches into the glove compartment, rifling around for the small bottle he knows is tucked in there. He also has some condoms, stuff he tossed in there after his impromptu hook up with Tanner in case he ever found himself in that situation again. Maybe best not mention that part.

 

“Here’s the god damn lubricant, you fucking sadist,” Gavin says, attempting to act more put out than he actually feels, though the tremble in his voice gives him away.

 

Nines accepts it with a smirk.

 

...why doesn’t Gavin trust that look?

 

“I suppose I should get back to ‘eating your ass out’,” Nines teases.

 

Gavin spreads himself, ass in the air, so Nines can have a good look at his puckered hole, glistening with the gangster’s drool. “Don’t act like you’re not fucking starving for it, babe. Bet you stroke that giant dick of yours just thinking ‘bout how fucking good I taste.”

 

_SMACK!_

 

“Fuck!”

 

His skin’s searing where Nines struck him, almost at exactly the same spot as the first slap. His aching cock leaks against the console and that dirty side of him loves that they will be leaving behind ‘evidence’ of the fantastic pounding he’s about to get.

 

“I never asked for your filthy commentary,” Nines says sharply, his voice cold enough to freeze Hell. He bends forward, pressing the entirety of his torso against Gavin’s backside, the shaft of his thick cock sliding between Gavin’s cheeks. His lips tickle the edge of the detective’s ear and in a low whisper, he adds, “Yet, you are not wrong.”

 

...fuck!

 

Gavin’s definitely gonna have to remember that later when he’s rubbing one out.

 

Nines leans back and the loss of his body heat has the detective swallowing a protest.

 

“Be a good detective and give me your hand.”

 

“...the fuck you need my hand for?”

 

The annoyed huff silences his complaints. Whatever it is, Nines has made it clear he won’t be putting his tongue back where Gavin wants it until Gavin starts listening. So he stretches his arm back, palm open, half-expecting Nines to put lube in it since the gangster only has one to work with. What he doesn’t expect is the slapping of metal on his wrist.

 

“The fuck?! Are those my handcuffs?!”

 

“The _other_ hand, detective.”

 

Gavin loves to test Nines’ boundaries, see how much insubordination he can get away with when the gangster’s in this sort of mood. The more he tests the gorgeous asshole’s patience, the better the dicking. But it’s clear from the hitch in Nines’ voice that he’s already at his limit and is fighting to keep from taking Gavin then and there.

 

He stretches back his other arm and allows Nines to handcuff him. With his arms bound behind his back, he struggles to keep his balance, bends forward across the console with a grunt. An almost feral sound echoes at the back of Nines’ throat, Gavin completely at his mercy and ass bent in the air. He’s a god damn snack and Nines is ready to binge, the gangster needing no more than a teasing wiggle before he’s descending on Gavin’s hole and going to fucking town.

 

And fuck, does he make good on his promise to eat Gavin out.

 

It’s so god damn filthy, the way Nines suckles and slurps at his hole, his tongue dipping in far enough to breach him but never venturing further. Gavin can’t even hear his own moans over the sounds of Nines eating his ass, made a stuttering, drooling mess as he tries to grind back against the gangster’s face. The asshole laps at his asshole and Gavin swears he can feel that smug half-smirk pressed to his entrance, the prick slowly unraveling him in what’s beginning to feel like torture. He gives only enough to make Gavin beg for _more_ , cupping the detective’s balls in his palm and giving them a gentle squeeze.

 

“Babe,” Gavin whimpers, his train of thought interrupted as Nines carefully rolls the sac in his hand. The gangster licks a long line, beginning from the back of Gavin’s balls, all the way up to his hole and the detective can’t even form words, a gargled mess of sounds ripping from his throat. It’s made only worse when the tip of Nines’ tongue probes inside him. “F-fucking give it to me! I—I wanna fucking feel you!”

 

But instead of yielding, Nines lets go and before Gavin can complain, the gangster’s hand grabs the back of his throat, shoves his face down against the seat. The pressure on his throat is just right, burning as Nines minutely tightens his grip, bent over the detective so his thick erection jabs against Gavin’s hole. His breath is hot as it tickles Gavin’s cheek and fuck, he’s half tempted to impale himself on that monster cock but without lube, he’ll be tearing before Nines makes it even a quarter of the way in.

 

“You want to feel me, darling?” the gangster whispers, and it sounds more like a threat than a wanton invitation. “Can you not feel this?”

 

His thumb presses harshly against Gavin’s windpipe, causing him to keen. Fuck, does he ever feel it.

 

“Would you change your mind if I told you I once killed a man in a position no different than yours? I had him, bound and on his knees, begging me just as you. He wanted to _feel_ me and I made sure to indulge him.”

 

The lack of air going to his brain has Gavin’s head spinning. But in the dizziness of the grip crushing his throat, the only thought that sticks in his brain is that someone else had been with Nines like _this._ And all he can feel is the white-hot rage of his jealousy because he doesn’t want to think of Nines having every touched someone who isn’t him.

 

“He felt me,” Nines whispers huskily, his nose pressing to Gavin’s temple as the detective gurgles. The edge of Gavin’s vision begins to grow fuzzy. “He felt my hands as they squeezed around his throat. There is nothing— _nothing—_ quite as exhilarating as watching the life leave a man’s eyes as he’s choking around your fingers...”

 

It should terrify him as he’s pushed to the brink, the cold detachment in which Nines makes his confession. The reminder that he’s killed—without remorse—and would do it again for the right price, even with every cop in the city ready to throw him in the slammer. But Gavin’s so fucking turned on, has been playing this game of Russian Roulette since that first night and he’ll tempt death and accept the risk of that single bullet finally finding its home in his skull if it means he gets to call Nines _his._

 

He struggles to hold onto consciousness, his lungs aching for the air they’re being denied. And just as Gavin’s certain he’s going to pass out, Nines relaxes his grip. The detective gasps and chokes on air, heart pounding wildly, everything slowly coming to focus. Through his blurry gaze, he sees the scratchy fibers of the passenger seat, feels Nines press his lips to the angry skin at his throat. The gangster’s mouth is a tender caress that eases the pain he’s inflicted and Gavin relaxes beneath the weight of him, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes.

 

“That was something I believed...until I met you.”

 

Gavin lifts his head, seeks out Nines’ lips until they’re kissing. It’s soft and hungry, his lungs screaming as they fight for more air but Gavin hardly gives a shit about catching his breath when he’s got the city’s sexiest and most dangerous criminal lavishing him with affection.

 

Gavin’s panting heavily when Nines finally lets him break the kiss, his exhales falling against Nines’ lips.

 

“Was it too much?”

 

Nines delicately touches the back of Gavin’s neck, his eye shining with concern in the dim glow.

 

“G-gonna need more than a bit of choking to take me out, babe,” Gavin croaks.

 

It hurts to talk, his vocal chords vibrating in pain as he answers. But so fucking worth it.

 

“We never established safe words. I could have taken it too far,” Nines whispers, kissing Gavin once more, chastely.

 

His hand reaches back to slide between Gavin’s cheeks, middle finger pushing against the detective’s entrance.

 

“Don’t need safe words.”

 

“That is a very risky attitude to have.”

 

“Taking risks is how I roll, baby.”

 

Nines’ finger slides inside of Gavin, pushing until it’s down to the last knuckle. Gavin bites back a groan, shoulders straining as he involuntarily tries to move his bound hands. A shudder escapes him as Nines retracts and then plunges his finger back inside.

 

“ _That_ is, perhaps, one of the most ridiculous things you have ever said to me while some part of me is inside of you,” Nines says. Gavin makes a face at him. “I must also question your judgment, though this is something I often find myself doing anyway: is it wise to submit so willingly to someone who confesses to murder while choking you?”

 

Gavin cries out as Nines rams his finger in hard, arching back against the gangster’s hand. Nines nuzzles at his sore neck.

 

“Y-you’re a f-fucking liar, Stern,” Gavin gasps out.

 

“Oh?”

 

He gazes at the detective with interest, a second finger teasing its way past the first ring of resistance.

 

Gavin tries to keep his voice steady but it’s so fucking hard to focus on anything when Nines is stretching him open. “Y-you’re too much of a f-fucking s-snob to sleep with a f-fucking hit. Th-that— _ugh_ —that story’s complete bullshit.”

 

Nines looks surprised. “I am impressed, Detective. Yet what does that say about _you_ that you find the thought of your lover murdering someone during intimacy so arousing?”

 

“Th-that I wanna be f-fucked by bad ass studs. So god damn f-fuck me already,” Gavin begs, pressing back onto Nines’ fingers.

 

“I suppose you have been denied long enough.”

 

The warmth and weight of Nines leaves his back, along with the fingers that were fucking him. Something clicks open and Gavin feels cool liquid ooze down his crack, shifts to glance over his shoulder. Nines is dribbling lubricant onto his cock, sets down the bottle before taking himself in hand. Gavin watches how those long, slim fingers close around his thick shaft, pump up to collect the globs of lube, and slide back down. It’s fucking gratuitous and hot and Nines is loving the attention, his pretty lashes fluttering closed as he gives a breathless sigh and jacks himself a few more times.

 

“If I do not take you soon, I may end up finishing myself off,” Nines whispers, opening his eye and gazing at Gavin with dark lust.

 

Fucking sexy robot pirate.

 

He gathers the lube in Gavin’s crack, eases three of his fingers inside of the detective. It’s more uncomfortable than Gavin wants to admit and he has to force himself to relax. He’s not exactly been sexually active lately, the last person inside of him being Rupert a month ago. He’s fingered himself a few times since, when thoughts of Nines had him popping a boner and it became too frustrating to ignore. No wonder he’d almost been god damn horny enough to go home with Nate earlier.

 

“You have kept yourself tight for me.”

 

The approval in Nines’ voice makes Gavin’s cheeks flare, warmth pooling low in his abdomen. The gangster carefully scissors his fingers, the detective’s inner walls stretching to accommodate. With a moan, Gavin says, “Your cock’s the only one I want.”

 

“You are being quite candid tonight.” The gangster’s voice is low with need, his fingers fucking Gavin in a steady rhythm. Gavin pushes back onto them, his earlier discomfort forgotten as they sink deep into him, making him only more desperate to have something thicker and fuller take their place. “If you keep speaking like that, I may have to take you before you’re ready.”

 

“F-fucking do it,” Gavin shudders, ramming back onto Nines hand. “F-fucking fuck me!!”

 

His patience gone, Nines pulls out his fingers and viciously yanks Gavin to the backseat by his cuffed hands. The rough treatment has the cuffs cutting into Gavin’s wrists but he doesn’t give a shit, helps Nines shift him until he’s sitting on Nines’ lap, knees on either side of the gangster’s clothed thighs. Asshole still isn’t naked, though he tugs his pants and underwear mid-thigh, his slicked cock pressing to Gavin’s entrance. With his right arm snaking around Gavin’s waist and left hand fondling one of the detective’s cheeks, he helps balance the detective against him, head tilted back to ghost his lips against Gavin’s.

 

“I recall there being talk of riding me,” the gangster says huskily.

 

Gavin smirks against his lips. “You threatened to fucking walk if I kept joking about that.”

 

“Because I would much rather you _actually_ ride me than merely joke about it.”

 

“Guess I better get fucking started then.”

 

And slowly, he lowers himself on the gangster’s cock.

 

A breathless gasp spills from his lips as Nines’ thick head stretches his sphincter, Gavin in full control as he shifts down to take all of the gangster. The burn, however, is severe as that full shaft forces his walls to expand, his body resisting the intrusion. Gavin tries to hold back a pained cry but it echoes weakly in his throat, though he keeps pushing down until he is fully seated on the gangster. Fuck...he really is a lot to take in.

 

“Darling,” Nines whispers, cradling Gavin’s face with his hand.

 

Gavin sees the concern on his features, just as much as he hears it in his voice but he doesn’t give Nines time to dwell on it, is kissing the gangster hungrily as he gives his body a moment to get used to having Nines inside of him once more.

 

It’s been too long. Too fucking _long._ And he has no fucking clue how much longer he’ll have to wait for the next time.

 

Breaking off the kiss, Gavin rests his forehead against Nines’, lifts his hips until only half of the gangster’s cock sits inside him, and then slides back down. He grunts, Nines kissing the corner of his mouth, before he moves once more.

 

“Gavin,” Nines groans, his face falling to Gavin’s shoulder.

 

The detective tries to move his arms out of instinct, wanting to wrap them around Nines, but is stopped by the cuffs. Instead, he nuzzles the side of the gangster’s head as he adjusts to the feel of Nines, the fullness of him making his chest pulse with warmth and his abdomen curl with a sense of completion that has his eyes begin to prickle. Nines is hugging him tightly, the gangster not saying anything but the sudden sense of what this means—of it being their last time—seems to hit them both.

 

“F-fuck, babe,” Gavin gasps, rocking his hips gently. The longer Nines is inside him, the more amazing it feels and his exhales become breathless shudders that tickle the pale flesh on the gangster’s neck. “S-So good. S-So fucking good.”

 

He rises, falls back down to bury Nines’ erection deep within him, babbling brokenly. The gangster sits back as Gavin starts to build a steady pace, his gaze a deep abyss of unabashed lust, roiling with a possessive need that only encourages the detective to make it that fucking good for him. He wants the memory of his hips slapping down on Nines’ thighs, the tightness of him bearing down on that thick cock, to be the most pervasive thought that the gangster succumbs to whenever he becomes overwhelmed with desire and touches himself in Gavin’s absence. Selfishly, he wants to be the one and _only_ man who can drive Nines to a wanton frenzy and so he’s gonna remind him how versed he is in riding the sexy asshole until he can’t fucking think straight.

 

Throwing back his shoulders and arching, he groans the gangster’s name loudly, angling so that with each bounce, Nines is hitting that perfect spot. He’s cautious of the low roof of the car, careful as he moves. The cuffs tear sharply into his wrists, the stinging sensation only helping that ache building inside of him begin to crescendo as he drives himself down on Nines’ cock. He’s getting so close to cumming and he wants to paint Nines’ chest in his hot spunk, mark him in threads of white.

 

Something loops around his neck and Gavin blinks his eyes open in confusion, spittle dribbling from his lips as he chokes out a surprised cry. It’s Nines’ discarded tie and the gangster’s hand is pulling on it until it tightens and presses against Gavin’s windpipe, a sexy half-smirk on his lips. He tugs sharply, forces Gavin to bend down towards him, nipping playfully at the detective’s nose.

 

“Blink if it’s too much,” Nines says, his voice thick with need. He licks at the drool on Gavin’s chin, pulls roughly on the tie, and then plunges his tongue between the detective’s lips. It’s fucking filthy but fuck if Gavin doesn’t love it. “My perfect, darling detective.”

 

The words of praise leave Gavin reeling with affection, who can only gargle as the silken material crushes his windpipe. His heart’s thumping wildly, lungs ready to burst from lack of air, and while every instinct is telling him to fight back, his bound hands leave him completely at the gangster’s mercy, his hips slamming down sluggishly. It’s getting too difficult to focus, everything bleary and fuzzy, tears leaking from his eyes as the tie around his neck gets impossibly tighter. He’s so close—his balls aching for that release—and he wants so badly to let go, to plummet from the fucking edge.

 

Nines rams up into him, pistons repeatedly against that spot and it’s so good—too fucking much—that Gavin’s whiting out, his whine a choked gurgle. He cums hard in thick ropes, a chaotic splattering of white that coats Nines’ pectorals and abdomen, shuddering as Nines releases the tie. Falling forward and gasping for air, Gavin clenches down weakly as the gangster’s voice cracks on his name and he feels hot cum spilling inside him. It takes only a few thrusts for Nines to empty himself, filling Gavin to the brim with his warm essence and Gavin, starved bitch that he is, fucking takes all of it.

 

For a while, they remain like that, too spent to move. Nines pants into Gavin’s shoulder, holding the detective as if he’s half afraid Gavin will disappear the moment he releases him, and Gavin’s fighting to fill his lungs with air after being denied for too long. His throat burns, his wrists and shoulders ache, his ass protesting his rough treatment but Gavin wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world. He wants to spend the rest of his life, bruised and marked, falling into the gangster’s embrace after a rough day at work, waking up each morning to that gray gaze and gentle smirk. He wants to have those arguments over dumb shit, like Nines being a dick to his cat, and not have to worry about dead bodies and life-altering secrets.

 

He wants a life with Nines. And yet, this is the one thing he knows they can never have.

 

He thought he was ready for this. He thought he was okay with cutting out Nines and moving on.

 

But he’s not.

 

Before he knows it, Gavin’s crying. He’s not sure what point in his train of thought triggered it but he’s suddenly overwhelmed, tears dripping onto the gangster’s sweaty shoulder. Gavin buries his face in the gangster’s neck but the smell of sex and cologne only makes him cry harder, even as he feels thick globs of cum drip from his asshole.

 

Crying after sex. That’s a new low.

 

There’s the sound of a _click_ and the handcuffs fall from his wrists, the lock picked by Nines. Gavin ignores the ache in his shoulders and throws his arms around Nines, feeling the gangster’s right arm curl protectively around him.

 

“Gavin?”

 

“Stay,” Gavin whispers into Nines’ neck, his voice thick with emotion. It’s both a plea and a death sentence because Gavin knows that if Nines does, he’ll be a dead man walking. But he wants it—wants it so _bad_ that to think of any other outcome is already making his heart break.

 

“Gavin,” Nines says, nudging him gently until he’s lifting his head to stare into the gangster’s eye. There’s a sadness in his own that has no business being there, not when they are together like this in what feels like the first time in forever. “Do not make me commit to another promise I will be forced to break.”

 

Gavin swallows heavily, drops his eyes to blink back his tears. Nothing’s ever felt as _right_ as being with Nines does but he knows that he can’t win this, that their last few break ups happened because of the type of life Nines leads. There’s no happiness, only more misery, if he tries to force Nines to stay.

 

“If another Murphy or Zlatko were to use you against me, I...” Nines looks uncomfortable as he swallows. Not guilty for what he is but ashamed to admit his lack of control. “...I would do...things. Far worse than I have already done.”

 

Gavin doesn’t want to know how much more twisted Nines can get, doesn’t want to think of Nines becoming more of a monster than he knows the gangster can be. It sometimes feels that whatever few threads of empathy remain in the gangster are tethered to Gavin, Connor, and perhaps Ralph—for reasons that still mystify him—and that all it takes is for one of those thin threads to snap for Nines to lose another part of himself to his own darkness. Whatever Kamski did to break Nines, Gavin knows he’ll never be able to undo. But, maybe, he can be that last bulwark before Nines loses himself completely.

 

Nines wipes away the tears that already stain Gavin’s cheeks and Gavin fights to hold back the rest, diverts his gaze to the necklace Nines wears. He toys with the bullet and the LED, the latter no longer emitting any glow. Now, it’s just a small band of metal.

 

Warmly, he flicks his eyes to the gangster’s hard pectorals. He notes how well Nines’ wears his cum.

 

“I...am certain you will find someone else more suitable. Perhaps another Robert.”

 

The jealousy in his voice is impossible to ignore, though Nines tries to be diplomatic. It’s obvious he’d rather not be.

 

“Don’t fucking want anyone else,” Gavin mumbles, rolling the LED over a knuckle.

 

Nines takes him by the wrist, stopping him. “I would prefer if you didn’t do that. It reminds me of one of Connor’s more infuriating habits and I would rather not think of him while I’m still in you.”

 

Gavin shifts, Nines’ cock slipping out of him. The gangster gives a low shudder, releases Gavin’s wrist.

 

“Who’d you think taught me that?”

 

And then Gavin goes back to playing with the LED.

 

Nines huffs. “...have I ever told you how annoying you can be?”

 

“You’re not in me anymore, babe.”

 

“That is not the point. Gavin...”

 

He tries again, this time by entwining their fingers. It forces Gavin to stop distracting himself from what he doesn’t want to hear.

 

“As much as I would rather you not, I...think you should move on.”

 

_Don’t you think I fucking tried?_ Gavin wants to snap, feeling a surge of anger. He snatches back his hand. “You really think this is the kind of shit you should be saying while we’re covered in each other’s cum?”

 

“Gav—”

 

“I’m not fucking doing this again! I’m not gonna fuck around and pretend that shit’s okay! I’m so fucking sick of trying! All we ever fucking do is fuck and break up—!”

 

“Because _you_ always run away from an argument instead of allowing me to explain,” Nines’ says, irritably.

 

“Because you keep fucking _lying_ about major shit!” And at least Nines looks guilty, snapping his mouth shut before he can interrupt Gavin. “And it’s not as if I don’t come crawling back anyway! You’ve pulled some really shady shit and gotten me implicated in five thousand fucking things and if my brother hadn’t been Elijah fucking Kamski, I’d have been stripped of my badge by now!”

 

“If this is how you feel, you understand why my leaving is the _best_ thing that can happen to you,” Nines says, coolly. The barriers are up, the edge in his voice sharp. He’s acting as if he’s not affected and Gavin’s not fucking having it.

 

“Don’t you fucking try this shit on me. That ‘heartless gangster’ act might work on every other asshole you’ve worked with but you know damn well you ain’t fooling me, babe.”

 

He takes Nines hand, grips it tightly, a tremor inside his chest. He half expects Nines to let go but the tension leaves the gangster’s shoulder as Gavin intertwines their fingers once more and squeezes.

 

“I fucking left you and I shouldn’t have,” Gavin admits, “I keep fucking off when you need me and then act like an asshole when you apologize. Well, I’m not fucking abandoning you this time. You need to get some place safe, you do that. But then you better bring your ass back to me.”

 

“Gavin, it is not that sim—”

 

“Don’t even fucking try and talk me out of it, babe. You know how much of a stubborn prick I am.”

 

Nines smiles softly, brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses one of Gavin’s knuckles. His gaze is sad as he whispers, “It may be a long time before you and I see each other again.”

 

“Guess I better get used to waiting.”

 

Gavin acts as if it’s nothing but he knows it’s going to be hard. Just the thought of going back to bed alone for yet another night makes a cold wave wash over him, his yearning for normalcy so palpable, he swallows heavily to bury the urge to cry once more. _Stay_ is a promise Nines won’t commit to but Gavin’s willing to settle for _Come back._

 

Nines let’s go of Gavin’s hand, reaches behind his neck to toy with the clasp of his chain. After a few seconds, he sighs in irritation. “I may need some help with this...”

 

Gavin’s not quite sure what the gangster’s doing but he doesn’t question it and within moments, the necklace is in his hands.

 

“Would you mind giving me the LED?”

 

He removes it from the chain and drops it in Nines’ hand. “You gonna finally toss that thing?”

 

Gavin helps put the necklace back on the gangster’s neck, the bullet now sitting on his pale chest. Close to one of his larger freckles. Because Gavin can’t help himself, he runs his finger from the freckle, draws an invisible pattern to connect it to others that line the gangster’s collarbone.

 

“I had something else in mind.”

 

He watches as Nines holds up the thick, small band. The gangster scrutinizes it for a moment and then squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger. Much to Gavin’s surprise, the metal ring expands, becoming a larger, thinner band.

 

“This was how Ralph and I were able to remove the audio receiver,” Nines explains. “Despite his infuriating personality, Ralph is quite the tinker.”

 

“Why does he annoy you so much?”

 

Nines makes a face. “He...seems to be under the impression that I want to be his friend. It is somewhat unsettling.”

 

Gavin snorts. “Can you blame the kid? You’re the friendliest asshole I know. Fuck, first time we had that bullshit meeting to talk ‘business’, I had to stop myself from inviting you to watch the game over a couple of beers.”

 

“There is no need to be facetious,” Nines replies, a coy smirk on his lips. “As I recall, ‘watching a game’ was the last thing on your mind during our first encounter.”

 

The detective colors. He remembers shifting uncomfortably in that dark booth, at full mast and barely able to focus on anything the hot asshole had been saying. He thought he hid his arousal well enough but perhaps he hadn’t.

 

“Your hand, detective.”

 

Gavin blinks away the thought, extends his left hand. He’s still mystified by what Nines is doing and it’s not until the gangster slips the small band onto one of his fingers that everything finally clicks.

 

“B-babe—”

 

“Consider this a ‘promise’, one that I hope I can keep this time,” Nines says, hastily. Gavin’s shocked to see the gangster’s fingers tremble as they secure the band on his ring finger. “So long as you are wearing this, I promise that I will do everything in my power to return to you. And when I do, I will be someone deserving of you.”

 

Gavin’s heart is hammering as he stares down at the dull band now sitting on his finger. His eyes begin to water and his throat is so thick with emotion, he is unable to speak.

 

“When I return, there will be no more lies between us and I will give you the life you deserve,” Nines adds, his thumb stroking over the ring. “If, however, you are not wearing this when next we meet, I will know that you have moved on and promise to no longer interfere in your life.”

 

Gavin can’t say anything, even as Nines slips into silence and nervously awaits his answer. Instead, the detective pulls the gangster into his arms, presses his face to the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, and lets those tears slip. The weight on his finger feels like more than a handful of words one can easily break: it feels like a future.

 

“Come back to me,” Gavin whispers, hugging Nines fiercely.

 

Nines grips him just as tightly, a tremor in his voice.

 

“I will,” the gangster promises. As a melancholic afterthought, he adds, quietly, “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.”

 

And despite all that Nines has failed to live up to, Gavin believes him.

 

* * *

 

_March 2040_

 

Gavin doesn’t know how he makes it through the next three weeks.

 

After dropping Nines off in the outskirts of Detroit, where Ralph was waiting with a hot-wired car to take them fuck knows where, Gavin couldn’t sleep that night, nor the nights that followed. Fueled by coffee, he threw himself into everything that wouldn’t make him think of the gangster: work, the gym, re-watching every fucking Marvel film from his childhood. But when exhaustion had him collapsing in bed, all he could do was stare up at the ceiling and let the panic build in his chest, that fear that always lingers at the back of his mind, of not knowing where Nines is or if he’s okay. The only thing that keeps his anxiety from exploding is the ring that sits on his finger because he just god damn _knows_ Nines is keeping that fucking promise.

 

Eventually, his poor sleeping habits catch up with him and then it’s the nightmares that keep him awake. There’s no one there to remind him that they are only perversions of the fucked up shit he’s seen so whenever he awakens in a cold sweat, he rubs the LED and lets the weight of it soothe him into dreamless sleep. On the worst nights, Socks senses his distress and joins him, the gentle ringing of the tiny bell he wears chasing the last of the twisted images from his sleep. It’s almost as if Nines is there with him.

 

But the gangster’s absence has a noticeable toll on Gavin. He forgets to eat, snaps more than usual at everyone, and can barely focus on anything. Even at the gym, Nate and Tanner express concern over his weight loss and general sluggishness but Gavin all but tells them to mind their own fucking business. He’s become too much of a fucking mess to deal with and pretty soon, everyone stops trying.

 

Everyone except Tina.

 

“You need to god damn eat something, Reed,” Tina clucks at him, setting down the groceries she brought on the counter.

 

“Fuck off, Chen. I’m fucking fine,” Gavin grumbles, slumping back on the couch and blearily playing the app he was on before she arrived. “Thought I said I didn’t need no fucking groceries.”

 

“There is _nothing_ in your fridge!” Tina complains and Gavin can hear her shuffling around in the kitchen, putting things away. “The fuck were you going to eat? Cat food?”

 

“Socks is a gluttonous shit and won’t share,” Gavin answers, not even looking up.

 

_SMACK!_

 

“Ow! The fuck, Chen?!”

 

“Get off your ass and help me put away groceries. Grace, you have that leftover soup we brought?”

 

“Right here, sweetie,” Grace says, the container in one hand and the other petting Socks. “Ooh, you’re such a little angel.”

 

“He’s no fucking saint. Shoulda seen what the little prick did to the roll of toilet paper this morning,” Gavin grumbles, pointedly glaring at his cat.

 

But the little shit’s purring as Grace coos over him, not even paying attention to Gavin.

 

“The cute ones are always trouble,” Grace says, standing up and entering into the kitchen. Her stilettos click on the hardwood floor, her ponytail bobbing with her movements. She hands the container of soup to Tina and leans down to kiss the corner of her mouth. Tina’s face goes a nice shade of pink and she flips Gavin off when he snickers at her.

 

It’s always amusing to see them together: tough as nails Tina becomes a complete softie around her girlfriend. Chen’s on the short side and Grace is almost six feet without her heels so Gavin always gets a kick out of having to watch Chen stand on her toes just to kiss her girlfriend.

 

Not unlike what he has to do with Nines.

 

The thought leaves a dull thud in his chest so he forces it from his mind.

 

“Chen, it’s my day off.”

 

“I’m not leaving until you finish this soup.”

 

“You my fucking beard now?”

 

“Always been your beard, Reed. Why the hell do you think I drag you out to shit when Grace is busy?”

 

“Because I’m the best fucking friend you’ve ever had?” Gavin says, putting away the oranges and apples she brought.

 

“That, too. But someone’s gotta look out for your cranky ass.”

 

Grace and Tina stay for dinner. It’s the best Gavin’s felt in a while, though watching the two banter and Grace constantly teasing Tina reminds him so viscerally of who he’s missing, there are moments in the night where he struggles to keep it together. Tina notices and it’s while Grace is putting on her coat and scarf that his ex-partner takes him aside and quietly, asks, “You doing okay?”

 

“Been better,” is all he can bring himself to say, swallowing heavily.

 

She hugs him, tightly. “If you need anything, you know you can call me.”

 

He squeezes her back.

 

“Take care of yourself, Gav.”

 

And he tries. It works for the next few days, Gavin eating through the leftovers and groceries Tina brought. He makes more of an effort to put himself back together and though he’s slightly less snappy, there’s a lifelessness to which he navigates crime scenes or interviews witnesses. Fucking B&Es are boring as shit anyway.

 

Then, something strange happens.

 

“Your transfer’s been approved,” Chau says, dropping a form on Gavin’s desk.

 

Gavin straightens in his seat and takes the paper, confusion on his face as he scans it. “The hell? I never requested a transfer.”

 

“Don’t you remember? You came by my office last week and dropped this off.”

 

Gavin’s about to argue that he hadn’t but Chau’s already walking out of the bullpen. He looks back at the form he’s holding, briefly questions if he’s completely lost it. Maybe in the frustration of the monotonous shit Chau’s got him doing, he had filled this out.

 

His eyes widen as he sees where he requested his ‘transfer’ to:

 

The Central Station.

 

_No fucking way,_ he thinks, scanning it a few more times. But there’s nothing wrong with his eyes. He’ll be back there starting next week.

 

The day just gets stranger when, at the end of his shift, he sees some fucking limo blocking his car. He grumbles, already pulling his badge out of his pocket, about to shove it in the driver’s face and demand he move his shit.

 

He storms over, slush flying off his boots. “This is a DPD parking lot. Move that fucking thing before I—”

 

“Detective Reed,” a woman says, as the back window rolls down.

 

Gavin inwardly groans. It’s Kamski’s lawyer. “Fucking shoot me now.”

 

“You haven’t responded to any of my messages.”

 

“Because I don’t give a flying fuck. You gonna move this god damn car so I can get the fuck out?”

 

Caroline Philips frowns. “There is something important that we need to discuss. Would you please accompany me to Cyberlife?”

 

Gavin snorts. “Yeah, I’m not getting in your fucking car. Or going to fucking Cyberlife. Whatever shitty proposition you have, you can shove it up your—!”

 

“My client has information on the whereabouts of a certain ‘person of interest’ in one of your precinct’s ongoing investigations,” Caroline cuts in, sharply. Gavin feels his heart literally stop, ice cold fear grip at his lungs and for one, brief moment, he forgets to breathe. “Do you wish to hear what she has to say or should I request ‘assistance’ from another officer?”

 

Gavin swallows his panic, scowl on his lips as yanks open the car down and throws himself in, slamming it shut. Caroline, who looks composed and slightly put off by his attitude, merely arches a brow when he sneers, “Resorting to fucking threats, Philips?”

 

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” she answers. Then, to the driver, “Cyberlife, please.”

 

They both ignore each other for the drive, Gavin silently fuming and hoping he looks pissed off enough that Philips won’t figure out how fucking terrified he is. If Chloe really does know where Nines is, she’ll have Gavin by the balls before he makes it to the negotiation table. He needs to keep his god damn cool but he’s shit at that. For once, he kinda wishes that backstabbing fucker, Connor, was coming with him.

 

Once at the Cyberlife building—a temporary headquarters while a larger tower is being built in Belle-Isle—Gavin and Caroline are greeted by Chloe’s assistant, Mary, and led up to her private office. There’s no escaping Kamski’s presence, as if his deceased brother is a ghost lurking in the brightly lit corridors, everything about the building sending an unsettling chill down Gavin’s spine. His expression hardens as he reminds himself, for perhaps the thousandth time in his guilt-laden internal monologue, that Kamski fucking deserved what he got.

 

“Detective Reed,” Chloe greets, standing beside her ivory desk and indicating to the seat in front of it. “I’m pleased you accepted my invitation. Please, have a seat.”

 

“Not like I had a fucking choice,” Gavin grumbles, dropping into the chair and folding his arms in front of his chest. His glare is frosty as he watches Chloe carefully seat herself across from him, her posture prim and perfect.

 

“We all have a choice, Detective. Sometimes, it’s not the hand that harms but the one that doesn’t stop it that does the most damage,” she says, cryptically.

 

Gavin stares at her. Hard.

 

_She fucking knows!_ He realizes.

 

“The fuck you want to discuss?” he says instead, trying not to appear caught off guard.

 

She smiles. Unlike Kamski, she can really sell it as genuine and it briefly has its effect, putting Gavin slightly more at ease. “I’m sure you’re a busy man, Detective, so I’ll get straight to the point: after the unfortunate... _passing_ of Mr. Kamski,” and there’s a sadness in her frown that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “the future of Cyberlife remains in question. It seems that only a Kamski may claim Elijah’s share of the assets and he’s named that beneficiary _you_.”

 

There’s a coolness in her eyes even as she’s wearing a somber expression, which almost makes Gavin want to shiver. He recognizes that look.

 

Kamski _fucked_ her, probably in more ways than the most obvious.

 

“You saying I own this shitty company?” Gavin asks, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

 

“What Director Weber is saying, Detective Reed, is that, due to Mr. Kamski’s belief of a shared parentage, if such can be proven, you will be entitled to 67% of the company’s assets,” Philips chimes in.

 

“So, what? I’m like a fucking millionaire now?”

 

Gavin snorts in disbelief.

 

“Actually, Detective Reed, given what Cyberlife is projected to close at by the end of this month, it would put your net worth at $3.4 billion.”

 

Gavin chokes on his own spit.

 

Chloe looks as if she’d love nothing more than to stare down her perfect nose at him. She, however, wears a placid expression, even as Gavin can see a growing fury burning in her blue eyes.

 

“Th-three billion? You fucking shitting me?!”

 

“As you can see, this is a matter that very quickly needs settling so that Cyberlife may be able to carry on with its future projects,” Chloe answers and Gavin can start to see that composure of hers slip, a slight edge to her response.

 

Gavin’s chuckle is cruel, his lips curled in a sneer. “So, what? My shit stain of a brother fucked you over and now you brought me here to get his fucking shares outta me?”

 

“Basically, yes.”

 

“You’re saying I own 67% of this shit. What’s to stop me from burning this shitty place to the ground?”

 

“ _That_ would be highly _unadvisable_ , Detective Reed, and I should not have to lecture you on which of the laws you’ll be violating,” Philips warns you.

 

“Like I give a shit. You wanna play ball the way my asshole brother did, Philips? Ten million dollars to look the other fucking way while I torch this fucking eyesore and take a piss on it.”

 

“Detective Reed, Elijah Kamski’s legacy—”

 

“Fuck his legacy! And fuck his blood money!” Gavin snaps. “Every one of you corrupt fucks know how the fuck he got his wealth! Give me a reason why I shouldn’t drag that asshole’s name in the mud and expose you for the pieces of shit you are?”

 

“Nines.”

 

The words stick to Gavin’s throat, his mouth dry, as he stares hard at Chloe. There’s the hint of a smile on her lips and a look in her eyes that he doesn’t trust at all. She’s got him right where she wants him and she fucking knows it.

 

“He wasn’t hard to find,” she admits, her voice soft. Demurely, she adds, “All it took was tapping into Kamski’s network and a bit of financial incentive. Neither Stern nor Ralph have the kind of face one easily forgets.”

 

Gavin scrutinizes her, tries to find any indication she’s playing him. But the few times he’s been in her presence, Gavin’s always found her impossible to read and he’s quickly realizing it’s the same case now. “You’re bullshitting.”

 

She laughs. It’s a sweet, gentle sound.

 

Opening one of the top drawers of her desk, she pulls something out and places it in front of Gavin.

 

His stomach plummets as his fingers gingerly pick it up.

 

His Detroit Tigers hat.

 

“There were only so many places they could hide in Canada,” Chloe offhandedly comments.

 

Gavin’s fingers tighten on the beanie he’s holding and he has to fight every urge to press his nose to it, see if he can smell the lingering scent of Nines’ cologne. The longing that rips in his chest makes his hands shake but then he’s gripped by panic as it hits him what all of this means.

 

“You fucking cunt,” he utters, his voice cracking on the swear.

 

If anything, it only makes Chloe’s smile more pleasant. “Sign your shares of the company to me, Detective Reed, and I can assure you that no physical harm will come to Mr. Stern.”

 

She slides a tablet across the table to Gavin.

 

Gavin removes the stylus, the screen unlocked to the bottom of a lengthy document that he really gives zero fucks to read. The erratic pounding in his chest makes him want to hastily sign away anything the bitch wants if only it means Nines will be safe from whatever fucked up plans she has for him.

 

As he presses the stylus to the screen, he forces himself to take a moment and really _think_ about what he’s doing. He’s about to give her everything.

 

“This why you put that hit on him?” he demands. “You needed a fucking bargaining chip to get what you wanted.”

 

“I have no clue what you are talking about.”

 

“You want the fucking company, you better god damn drop the act!”

 

Her gaze hardens. “I may have _influenced_ events that led to the situation Stern finds himself in. My involvement ceases once you sign.”

 

“And Ralph. You have to guarantee his protection, too.”

 

“Of course.”

 

So Gavin signs, his messy signature looking more like a blemish on the electronic document. Caroline comes to his side and indicates to other parts of the contract that require his name. It takes all but a minute and Gavin goes from a potential worth of $3.4 billion back to whatever the fuck his old beater and Socks’ name tag can get him.

 

“There. All yours. Merry fucking Christmas,” Gavin sneers, dropping the stylus so it clatters noisily on her ivory desk. “Now where the fuck is Nines?”

 

A frown appears on her face. “About that...”

 

A sick feeling of dread twists his insides.

 

“Detective Reed, I think it’s best if you come with me.”


	14. What Had You Expected?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal made between Chloe and Nines changes Detroit forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...here it is! The conclusion. It's later than many of you expected because despite having been "finished" three weeks ago, I was unhappy with what I had written so I spent most of this week rewriting this to give the characters a send off that I felt was more fitting. It's a lot more open-ended than I had initially wanted but this is the one I have decided that I want for this series. I have spent the better part of 9 months writing this verse so to end things here makes me sad but also excited that I was able to share this experience with everyone else. So many of you have reached out to me to tell me how much you've liked these iterations of the characters and I never expected it. I get the feeling that there will be many opinions on how I chose to end this and at the risk of leaving myself open to lots of criticism, I invite all of you to share your feelings about it and let me know what you thought.
> 
> Before going onto the fic, please send love to some of the wonderful artists who have made beautiful art for this fic. First of all, I would like to thank [Mahamelon](https://mahamelon.tumblr.com/) for creating [this](https://mahamelon.tumblr.com/post/187505289363/this-is-an-old-doodle-for-gangsternines-from-the) piece of Nines with his scar. And you even included the tablet <3! I also want to thank [Seb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupiddragon) for making [this](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/527258640571170836/619738284482101258/become_gangster.jpg) artwork of Nines bathed in blood. I have included Seb's work at the start of this chapter, for those who don't have Discord and can't see it. Thank you both so much for making these! They're so gorgeous T.T
> 
> Shout outs to the amazing readers who have kept me motivated: [DeviantAlicee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeviantAlicee/pseuds/DeviantAlicee), who has not only created art but also left wonderful comments, [Sliver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sliver/pseuds/sliver) for engaging me in an important discussion on characterization, [Yours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours/pseuds/yours), who really gets it about the toxicity, [Hunter_of_Coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunter_of_Coffee/pseuds/Hunter_of_Coffee) (sorry your friend is so tormented!), [karasgotagun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun), for leaving a really great comment, [TheEighthBit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEighthBit/pseuds/TheEighthBit) for joining us on this crazy train, and to everyone else, whether you have followed only recently or from the beginning. Thank you so much!
> 
> Those of you who don't want to be spoiled can skip the tags but if you worried about any content that may upset you, please check the updated tags before continuing.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3!

 

 

 

 

_July 2040_

Tina

 

“Your mood ring’s glowing again.”

 

Gavin doesn’t look up from his phone, typing away as he leans over the high table in the break room. Tina sees a hint of red splash across his cheeks and can’t help but smirk. Call it a detective’s instinct but her gut’s telling her that whatever her partner’s texting, it’s definitely not work related.

 

The ring Gavin wears on his left hand—which, normally, is a simple, plain band—instantly goes from a calm blue to yellow. Tina’s rarely seen it light up and has no clue what triggers it but she’s guessing it’s gotta be something intense.

 

“Dunno what the fuck you’re talking about, Chen,” Gavin murmurs, his blush deepening as he drops his eyes back to the screen of his phone.

 

Tina has to stand on her tip toes to peer over his shoulder. “More dick pics?”

 

“Chen, what the fuck?!” Gavin squawks, his phone clattering face down onto the table as he tries to hide it from her. Tina laughs as he flips her off, shuffling a few steps from her and swiping his phone back up. “Can’t a guy get some fucking privacy?!”

 

“There’s a restroom if you need to do _that_ ,” Tina answers, grinning.

 

“Watch it, Chen, or I’m complaining to HR about your pervy ass harassing me.”

 

“I’m not the one checking out dick pics on my phone while on the clock.”

 

“I’m off the fucking clock and it’s not a god damn dick pic!”

 

He shoves his phone in her face and Tina can’t help but make a cooing sound. If anything, it makes Gavin’s blush spread down to his neck. “Knew you were gonna be fucking weird about it...”

 

He tries to put away his phone but Tina’s already snatching it out his hands. “Did you and Niles take this at the game you went to last weekend? You look so cute together!”

 

She looks down at the screen, feeling that grin on her face spread: both Gavin and his boyfriend of three months, Niles, are wearing matching Detroit Tigers hats and jerseys as they sit in the stands. Niles, his blond hair mostly hidden beneath the hat, has a charming grin on his face, his gray eyes sparkling behind the thick, black-framed glasses he wears, and an arm wrapped around Gavin. Gavin, however, looks as if he’s trying his damnedest to appear put off and annoyed with the selfie but he’s very clearly a man in love.

 

“Chen….”

 

Tina manages to just keep the phone out of reach. “C’mon, Gav, you _have_ to set this as your background. This is such a good pic of you! You don’t look constipated, for once!”

 

“What the—I never look fucking constipated!”

 

She ducks under his arm, walks around him as she starts fiddling with the settings. With only a few taps, the pic has now replaced one of Socks sleeping with his tongue sticking out as Gavin’s background. “There! All done!”

 

“What about my fucking cat? That was pet derp gold, Chen!”

 

“Relax, Reed. I kept it as your lock screen,” Tina answers, winking. “Now, you have both Socks and Niles on your phone. Next, you guys will need to take a family photo together!”

 

“Niles _hates_ Socks; he’d never agree to that shit. And give me my god damn phone back!”

 

But just to be an asshole, Tina continues her game of keep away, stretching one arm behind her and using her other to hold Gavin back. “Not until you promise that you’re gonna make both of them dress up for a dorky Christmas card pic this year!”

 

“Fuck that!”

 

“C’mon, Gav, it’ll be soooo cute,” Tina teases. “Can you imagine Socks in a Santa hat and you two in matching ugly sweaters? Don’t you dare hold out on me, Reed!”

 

“Fucking Christ, Chen, if you don’t give me back my phone...!”

 

The threat dies on his lips as a tall shadow falls over Tina and she feels someone pluck the phone from her hand. Gavin’s ring blinks yellow a few times and the detective notes that her partner’s face has gone even more red as he stares at the person standing behind her.

 

“Forgive me but could either of you tell me how to get to the DPD?” The man asks, his posh, English accent richer than aged wine. “It seems I have lost my way to the police station and stumbled upon a daycare.”

 

Tina turns around and grins up at Gavin’s boyfriend. Niles is wearing a charming smile on his face, though Tina notes that there is something warm about his expression as he sees the background she had set on Gavin’s phone.

 

“Ha ha, a fucking daycare. Anyone ever tell you you should’ve gone into comedy, babe?” Gavin says, sarcastically.

 

As the pet name slips, Tina’s already got a snarky comment but Gavin shoots her a dirty look that says, _Don’t you fucking dare, Chen!_

 

“Darling, I believe this belongs to you.”

 

Niles hands the phone back to Gavin, his fingers lingering a moment longer as they brush against the detective’s. Tina swears she can almost see her friend’s usual crass and prickly demeanor melt away, especially when Niles leans down to press a gentle kiss to the scar on Gavin’s nose. The detective playfully swats at his boyfriend, acting annoyed but it’s so obvious how hard he’s fallen for him and she couldn’t be happier for Gav, especially after the string of bad luck he’s had in relationships over the last few years.

 

Admittedly, Tina had been reluctant to warm up to Niles Deckert back when Gavin first introduced them. The Cyberlife spokesperson, who’s since become a bit of a local celebrity through all of the promotional work he does for the company, had seemed too... _clean_ , too _pretty,_ to be genuinely into Gavin. And this isn’t to say anything bad about her partner but Tina has come to see a pattern in the kind of men Gavin likes: extremely handsome but either emotionally unavailable (like Connor) or emotionally manipulative (like Nines). And this is not even counting the string of assholes he dated back in his twenties who had always fucked around on him. Tina knew that if Niles had Gavin that wrapped around his finger, he’s got to be bad news.

 

The Englishman, however, soon surprised her. He’ll randomly drop in during some of Gavin’s lunch breaks, sometimes to bring his boyfriend coffee or food he had made—and, damn, can the man cook. Once, he even brought Gavin roses and not even the fact that some of the flowers had been damaged could wipe the grin from her friend’s face. Niles is always attentive to all of Gavin’s coworkers, particularly Tina and Chris, and he even stuck around once to finish their lunch break with them when Gavin had been suddenly called away to a meeting with Hank. Niles is very easy to talk to, even if he’s a bit stuck up, but what won Tina over was not how easily he can charm a room but the obvious effort he puts into being part of Gavin’s life. It’s clear he cares for Gavin, though they’ve only been together a short time, and that’s what matters most.

 

Yet, there are times when Tina gets this odd inkling about him, as if he’s not quite what he seems.

 

She pushes away the thought, watching in bemusement as Niles makes the blush deepen on Gavin’s face.

 

“And for the record,” Niles says, his voice low and sultry, “I _can_ be persuaded to pose for a Christmas photo...with the _right_ incentive.”

 

“He means the ‘D’, Gav,” Tina whispers, earning her a dirty look from her bestie as his blush creeps down his neck.

 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ got that, Chen.”

 

“I help because I love.”

 

“Could you maybe love me a little less?” Gavin snaps at her.

 

“Darling, while I would like to come to your defense, you can be somewhat...obtuse _,”_ Niles points out.

 

“Translation: clueless.”

 

“I know what fucking ‘obtuse’ means, Chen!” Gavin grumbles, “Fucking Lieutenant Anderdick bitches about that all the time. ‘Blah blah blah—Gav, are you even listening?!—blah blah blah obtuse blah blah!’”

 

Niles chuckles at the terrible impersonation and Tina struggles to stifle her own laughter as she notices Connor frowning at the entrance of the break room.

 

“That’s _not_ what I sound like.”

 

Gavin doesn’t seem to give a shit about being caught by their boss. If anything, it only makes him more tense and his retort more scathing. “You should try listening to yourself sometime, Con: maybe then you’ll finally pull that stick outta your ass.”

 

There’s an obvious tension between them, something left unresolved, as Connor pulls his lips in a tight line and chooses not to let Gavin bait him into another argument. Tina’s noticed that since Gavin’s come back to the station, his relationship with Connor has only further deteriorated to the point of open hostility. She’s not asked him what it’s about this time, figures Gavin will talk to her if he ever needs to unload his frustration. Connor’s been on her shit list for a while now anyway though she’s kept things coolly polite at work, if only for the sake of Hank.

 

“Gonna get my shit. Then we can bounce,” Gavin tells Niles.

 

He purposely bumps Connor hard in the shoulder as he leaves the break room. The lieutenant smooths out an invisible wrinkle in his shirt and then turns to the other man in the room.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Niles,” Connor says, warmly. There’s something in his brown eyes— _affection_ —that has Tina immediately on her guard.

 

It wouldn’t surprise her if Connor is attracted to the Brit—Tina sees the way many heads turn in the station whenever the man stops by and how everyone’s always whispering how hot Gavin’s boyfriend is. Hell, though Tina’s never been into men, she can concede that he’s incredibly pretty.

 

Niles answers, somewhat clunky, “I often visit my partner and cannot imagine it has been that long since you and I last conversed. However, I appreciate the sentiment.”

 

A look is exchanged between them and Tina doesn’t know what to make of it: Niles adjusts his glasses while Connor seems as if there’s more he wants to say but his gaze darts awkwardly to her. She glances between them and a strange thought suddenly pops in her head. There’s something almost... _similar_ about their expressions, something she can’t quite put her finger on…

 

“Detective Chen, shouldn’t you be getting back to your reports?” Connor asks.

 

Tina doesn’t want to leave him alone with Niles but she doesn’t have the same loaded history with Connor as Gavin does and isn’t about to test Connor’s patience with a bit of insubordination. Coloring, she excuses herself and makes her way back to her desk.

 

Back in the bullpen, Gavin’s gathering the last of his things and shoving his keys in his pocket. Tina glances back towards the break room in trepidation, debating if she should really say something. Whatever’s going on between Connor and Niles, she knows it’s not her business but she’ll be damned if she lets anyone hurt Gavin again.

 

“Hey, Gav,” she starts, checking to make sure there’s no one around to hear them. When she gets her friend’s attention, she leans in and says, quietly, “I dunno what the fuck’s up with him but...I think Connor’s got a thing for Niles.”

 

The reaction she was expecting is certainly not the one she receives: Gavin makes a _face._ And it’s not the kind of face someone makes if they’re jealous—she’s seen Gavin jealous. Hell, he almost lost his shit a few weeks ago when some rookie was fangirling over Niles and trying her hardest to get his number, completely unaware he’s taken.

 

“You sure about that, Chen?”

 

It’s clear he doesn’t believe her. And the more she thinks about it, the more she wonders if maybe she is misreading everything.

 

“I...you know what? Never mind,” Tina says, brushing it aside with a forced laugh.

 

It doesn’t ease her suspicions and she can’t shake the strange feeling that she gets from Niles. If Gavin trusts him, perhaps it just means she’ll need to be extra vigilant.

 

Niles joins them not a minute later. He sidles in close to Gavin, slides his hand in the detective’s back pocket, and pulls out Gavin’s car keys. With a coy smirk, he hands them to Tina. “You will not be needing these at the moment. Tina, would you be a dear and hold onto them? I will have my assistant come by later to pick up the detective’s car.”

 

Tina forces a grin as she accepts them. “Sure thing. You boys have fun.”

 

Gavin’s red faced, head down as Niles takes him by the hand and drags his blushing boyfriend out of the station. Tina waves them off but as she sees Connor in her peripheral, that warm look still on his face, she can’t help but wonder what it is she’s missing.

 

* * *

 

_July 2040_

Niles

 

The drive to his penthouse takes twice as long as it should, the congestion of late afternoon traffic forcing his Aston Martin into a slow crawl at multiple points throughout the drive. He takes full advantage of the heavily tinted windows whenever they’re forced to sit there, his right hand sliding to Gavin’s thigh and trailing up the inner seam of his jeans. The air conditioning’s blasting in his car but they may as well be out in the July heat with how worked up the detective’s getting. The more Niles simulates ‘arousal’, the more violently the ring on Gavin’s finger blinks red.

 

Just as the zipper comes down, he’s forced to move his hand back to the shift stick as traffic begins moving.

 

“Can’t you put that on auto?” Gavin complains.

 

“I had the AI disabled _after_ you insisted on multiple occasions that Hal3000 was ‘an unhinged sociopath waiting to go full Terminator’. Your words, Detective,” he answers, accessing his voice modulator component to alternate his voice to sound like Richard Stern’s.

 

“Who the fuck calls their AI ‘Hal3000’? And installs _that_ fucking voice with it?”

 

In the upper corner of his eyes, sensory data is compiled and reported back to him: he reads Gavin’s blood pressure and heart rate, the temperature outside—humidity, moisture, air quality—and calculates the number of vehicles in front of him. There are still times when the multitude of potential responses provided by his socialization software becomes somewhat overwhelming and he struggles to determine which would be most appropriate as Gavin generally has a dark sense of humor and unpredictable moods. But over time, he is learning to adapt.

 

“I thought it was funny,” he remarks.

 

“Yeah, fucking hilarious.”

 

Bemused sarcasm.

 

“I could bring Hal3000 back since you seem to miss his company.”

 

He reaches for the dash, the skin on his right hand retracting so that he can interface with the vehicle. Gavin visibly tenses and he doesn’t need his processor to detect the spike in vitals to know that the appearance of his metallic skin makes his boyfriend anxious.

 

One thing they have yet to overcome.

 

“You sure you should be doing that shit while you drive, Tin Can?” Gavin asks.

 

The detective tries to play it off nonchalantly but it’s obvious he doesn’t approve.

 

Niles notes that Gavin Reed’s stress level is 14.67% higher than usual.

 

He returns his hand to the stick, deciding not to pressure Gavin on this issue. Evidently, his course of action was a miscalculation. Gavin’s acceptance of what he believes Niles is has been a slow process. The detective’s discomfort shows whenever his synthetic skin peels away, though Niles has interfaced successfully on multiple occasions. But given all that the detective has been through, he’s learning the meaning of patience. He’s always known of Gavin Reed’s trepidation towards synthetics, yet it has only made him more fascinated, more _eager,_ to gain the detective’s approval.

 

After all, Niles has developed something of a... _fascination_ , since Gavin Reed was assigned as his objective.

 

“I will exercise more caution when in your presence,” he answers, somewhat clipped.

 

His patience is abundant but threadbare in practice. All for the sake of appearances. This ongoing disdain Gavin exerts has an expiration date and it’s at moments like this that he feels that date approaching quite quickly.

 

The rest of the drive is mostly silent, a sudden shift in the playfulness from earlier making both of them wallow in the momentary tension that thickens between them. He wonders if today they’ll finally have that argument and he’s not sure that he’s prepared for the ugliness of it: Gavin will say something insensitive, probably, and Niles is often unaffected enough that he knows he will derive little genuine offense from whatever the detective utters. Yet, he still has a way of cutting Gavin down even faster, far worse, with those choice words prioritized as a response when Gavin ‘pushes’ him too far. It’s an aspect of his social programming that’s becoming more and more instinctive the more he indulges in this type of combative behavior. And the aftermath often involves resolution in some form of physical gratification.

 

It’s, perhaps, what mystifies him most about his partner.

 

Before he can reflect further on what may happen once they’re behind closed doors, Gavin’s slipping his fingers through Niles’ right hand. He squeezes.

 

A quick reading of the detective’s body language confirms what Niles is aware of: Gavin is no longer hostile.

 

Conflict averted.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Deckert, Mr. Reed,” the concierge greets.

 

Niles addresses him with the same voice he uses when out in public. Gavin simply grunts awkwardly.

 

Once the door to the private elevator closes, Niles notes the sudden surge in the detective’s arousal and takes initiative, as he knows Gavin prefers. He pins Gavin to the wall, his mouth beginning its assault on the detective’s throat. He kisses and nibbles at the dark bruises left from their last tryst, Gavin’s hitched breath and the hand that pulls Niles hips against his, all the encouragement he needs. It’s torturous having to sit beside Gavin for any period of time and not be able to devour the flesh the detective so brazenly displays. Gavin doesn’t even try to hide his bruises anymore: he wears them openly, even if they invite relentless teasing from his coworkers.

 

Niles is beginning to understand even more the addictive nature of possession.

 

“B-babe,” Gavin groans, grinding against Niles’ thigh.

 

In response, he swipes his tongue over a particularly sensitive bruise, traces a pattern between two freckles that have almost disappeared beneath the red and purple marks that litter Gavin’s neck. Niles has learned all the ways to please the detective and, in turn, of how to best operate his pleasure sensors to amplify the experience for both of them. He can prolong intercourse until the intensity is so overwhelming, Gavin’s either ejaculating hard across their chests or deep inside of him, his body slicked with sweat and thighs trembling against Niles. Niles takes even more pleasure than he has vocally admitted the times Gavin has claimed him and secretly wishes he could request it more often. However, his social protocols prioritize Gavin’s preferences and advise against verbal cues that would be suspect.

 

“Y-you really w-want those security pervs to s-see this?”

 

“Let them watch,” Niles says, huskily, grasping Gavin’s cock through his jeans.

 

His eyes flicker over to the CCTV camera. It’s not the first time he’s accosted Gavin in this elevator, nor will it be the last.

 

When the elevator opens, Gavin grasps his tie and roughly tugs him into the first floor of the penthouse. Niles is only too eager to follow, gazes in awe at his lover. The flush in Gavin’s cheeks, the sheen of saliva that coats his lips, makes him appear ripe and ready for what Niles has in store for him.

 

He goes to kiss his boyfriend but then Gavin’s stopping him with a firm hand against his hard chest, the other still gripping the tie tightly. “Sorry, blondie—I gotta thing for brunettes.”

 

With a calculated smirk, Niles answers, “Then you are in luck, Detective, for I am a natural.”

 

He accesses the palette that controls his synthetic hair follicles, alternates the color. Gavin’s arousal spikes as Niles makes that subtle change in his appearance. He will never look like the man Gavin initially fell in love with but with this one small alteration, it’s as if his entire face changes in Gavin’s eyes.

 

“Nines,” Gavin whispers, the tenderness in his gaze making Niles’ thirium pump stutter dully.

 

That name fills Niles with a sensation he’s become far too familiar with.

 

Envy.

 

* * *

 

_March 2040_

Gavin

 

Chloe leads him through the Cyberlife facility, down to the lower levels and past many security doors. Almost every entrance has some signage indicating it’s a RESTRICTED AREA and the security seems to get increasingly more intense the further down they go. Gavin sees some scientists and engineers milling about, mostly absorbed in getting from point A to B, some even nearly colliding into him as they read over the tablets they carry. A few greet Chloe but no one pays him any heed.

 

When finally they reach the area for RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT, Chloe has to undergo a retinal scan, voice activation, provide fingerprints, and submit a pass code before she’s given permission to use her card key. It takes all of a minute but Gavin’s spent the better part of a half hour just getting to this point of the facility and he has no fucking clue why they’re even here.

 

“Can’t you hurry this shit up?”

 

“You’re about to enter one of the most secure areas of Cyberlife, Detective,” Chloe responds, stepping back as the heavy doors slowly slide open. “We’ve had to upgrade our security for good reason.”

 

He follows after her through the doors and they enter onto a walkway that overlooks a testing area at least two stories down. The height makes him a bit anxious, a sudden constricting in his chest and the sensation of falling prickling at his insides. He buries that deep, knowing he still has shit he needs to work through but he’s not about to lose it when he still needs to get to the bottom of where Nines is.

 

“Don’t know why the fuck you need so much...”

 

The complaint dies on his lips as he squints at the people moving around below. Except...they’re not people. The hairless and expressionless off-white faces of about two dozen robots move in sync to commands being projected over loudspeaker. At another end of the room, engineers and technicians monitor the performance of individual units as they fire at targets with military grade rifles. The fucking things even shoot in sync.

 

Gavin’s heart’s caught in his throat and he forgets to breathe as he stares down in horror at a scene that seems to have been constructed out of something from his nightmares. He forgets to not fucking panic and starts to fucking panic.

 

“The fuck?! Are those fucking robots?!”

 

Chloe pauses mid-step, glances back at Gavin, who’s now fallen more than a handful of paces behind her. Gavin’s trying to not have a god damn heart attack and the heartless bitch is looking at him as if he’s the one acting that fucking dramatic. “We recently received a defense contract from the US government—information that, I expect, will not leave this facility. The Department of Defense became quite interested in a breakthrough we had in the field of robotics a few months ago. The military models you see below are part of our TROJAN series.”

 

“Didn’t the fucking military stop using murderbots after a bunch went terminator on our troops in that last war we were in?” Gavin demands, his voice raising an octave as he fights to bring down his heart rate. He’s about to have a full blown panic attack in however many fucking stories they are below ground and where the fuck did all the oxygen go?!

 

“A malfunction in the software is what caused those androids to attack our own military. Though the robotics division of Cyberlife is still new, we have employed the greatest minds in the field and have developed the proper failsafes to ensure that our own models will never turn against their handlers,” Chloe answers.

 

Gavin’s breathing hard, sweat lining his forehead, his hands trembling at his sides. He’s starting to feel somewhat dizzy.

 

“Detective Reed? Are you feeling okay?”

 

His tongue feels heavy, rooted to the bottom of his mouth and the words just won’t come.

 

“This human is having a panic attack, Director Weber.”

 

One of those fucking… _things_ , is at Chloe’s side, its white face tilted as if it’s scrutinizing Gavin. Yet, it doesn’t make any expression, its voice monotone.

 

What the _fuck_ is happening?!

 

“RK, please see if you can assist the detective.”

 

The robot takes a step towards him and Gavin finally squeaks out, “S-stay the f-fuck away from me!”

 

It stops.

 

“I only wish to assist you, Detective Reed,” the android says, its gray eyes staring in fascination at the detective. There is something so eerily familiar about those eyes, something that unsettles Gavin even more.

 

“H-how the _fuck_ does that thing know my _fucking_ name?!” Gavin demands.

 

He backs away from it, takes a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t stand to look at the fucking thing, his flight response having him itching to run back through the now locked security door and up to the surface, run as far away from this fucking place as his feet will carry him. He feels as if he’s been thrust into some parallel universe and that they’re one android’s bad day away from the robot apocalypse.

 

“Detective Reed, you need to calm down. If you are unable to continue further, I will not be able to bring you to Mr. Stern,” Chloe explains, slowly.

 

Why can’t she bring Nines back upstairs? Why the fuck does he have to be down here, anyway?

 

 _Nines._ _Do it for Nines,_ he has to repeatedly tell himself, as he continues to breathe in carefully to settle his rapidly pounding heart. At this fucking rate, he’ll have a god damn heart attack before he makes it past the plastic killbot.

 

He’s too god damn old for this shit.

 

He exhales slowly and pointedly avoids looking at either Chloe’s robot servant or the androids below. “I-I’m good. Just k-keep that fucking thing away from me.”

 

It’s staring at him. Why the fuck does it keep staring at him?!

 

He hears it follow in step behind him as Chloe leads them across the walkway and through another series of corridors until they reach another door that requires a shit ton of clearance to get through. Once inside, Gavin peers at the glass wall that divides the room in half and it’s as if his heart’s been ripped from his rib cage as he sees the unconscious figure on the other side attached to a multitude of monitors and machines, the man’s face covered completely in bandages. But Gavin doesn’t have to see it, would know that frame anywhere, and he’s already rushing to the window.

 

“That Nines?” Gavin says, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes fall to the gangster’s right arm, the once missing limb now replaced by a hand and forearm of the same material he’s seen on the androids. “What the _fuck_ did you do to him?!”

 

Chloe walks over to the glass and begins tapping on it. The gangster’s vitals appear before them, the heart monitor showing the steady, rhythmic beat of Nines’ heart. Other diagrams appear on the glass and Chloe shifts one of the images over, one that’s highlighting Nines’ brain activity.

 

“Without the head chip, it took a bit longer to find him,” Chloe answered, her lips pulling in a small frown. “Once I had, I decided to make him an offer. The limited data I collected in the time we experimented with the chip has proven invaluable for the development of our own AI. Artificial Intelligence—true artificial intelligence—remains a limitation for this company, one that might require some years before we finally achieve it. RK, our most advanced model, can only converse in basic conversations and complete simple tasks, with restrictions when it comes to learning. I became curious to see what we could accomplish if we merged our technology with something that is already self-aware.”

 

“You put another fucking chip in his head?! Turned him into another one of your fucking experiments?!”

 

His hands balls into fists in his anger and from the corner of his eye, he sees the android’s LED suddenly go to red, its head turning sharply towards Gavin. Chloe’s own fucking attack dog.

 

“We both had something the other wanted,” Chloe says, neutrally. “He’s here because he _chose_ to be here.”

 

“Bull-fucking-shit! You fucking threatened him!” Gavin snaps.

 

RK takes a step towards him.

 

“RK, stop.”

 

The android stops.

 

Gavin glares between the plastic and her.

 

“I didn’t threaten him, Detective. As I said, we both had something the other wanted.”

 

“He was finally free of you and this shitty company. What in the fuck could you possibly offer him!?”

 

“I thought the answer would be obvious, Detective,” Chloe says, with a warm smile. “You.”

 

Gavin startles.

 

Chloe returns to the glass screen, shifting an image over. She taps twice and it projects in 3-D off the glass, floating in the space between them. It shows a head, no different than RK or the other androids. “Richard Stern is a wanted felon. Due to the national attention his murders received, he’ll never be able to show his face anywhere again.”

 

“Because you fucking threw him under the bus!”

 

“For crimes he _committed,_ Detective. We can debate if coercion was a factor but I have neither the time nor the patience to get into the less savory parts of Kamski’s empire,” Chloe says, harshly. “The point is: he needed a new face. And I gave it to him.”

 

She touches the glass again and a layer of skin emerges over the 3-D face, blond hair ‘growing’ until it forms Nines’ signature style, pale flesh covering the once white metallic skin. Gavin can see traces of Nines in this projection: from the cheekbones, to the brow ridge, to those gray eyes he’d never mistake for anyone else’s. But otherwise, unless someone squinted hard, it’s like looking at a stranger’s face.

 

“His skin has been replaced from the neck up with the same alloy we use for our own machines,” Chloe explains. “We’ve developed an optical unit to replace his right eye and a prosthetic arm that we’ve integrated with his head chip to coordinate muscle movement. We also had to replace his vocal chords with a voice modulator. Then, there was some sculpturing of his mandible to account for the deviations in his new appearance.”

 

Gavin’s heart sinks as he stares at the stranger in the projection and then looks back at the unconscious figure in the other room. His right hand goes to the band he wears on his left, stroking the promise Nines had made. He wanted Nines to come back to him but...not like this…

 

 _What’ve you done, babe?_ He thinks, sadly. _Why the fuck would you do this?_

 

Nines gave up the one thing Gavin was always convinced the vain asshole loved most: his face.

 

“You made me think you were gonna kill him.”

 

He meant for it to sound angry but Gavin doesn’t have the energy to give a fuck. He’s lost all his bite as he stares brokenly at the man lying in the other room.

 

“I said what I had to in order to get my company back,” Chloe says, absently. “I don’t care for the money. Or for Elijah’s drug empire. But I _do_ care about Cyberlife and will do anything for it. If you want a house, a car, enough money to retire early—you simply have to name your price.”

 

“...I just want him back,” Gavin whispers, his voice cracking.

 

Much to his disappointment, he realizes he can’t have what he’s asking for. He wants the same Nines who first played Russian Roulette with him in the warehouse—the same asshole who showed up at his doorstep with damaged roses and blood all over his shirt. He wants Nines without all the creepy robot shit.

 

But he knows how selfish he’s being, how they’ve come too far for that. And when he glances over at the RK unit, who wears the same kind of face sitting beneath Nines’ bandages, Gavin has this sudden thought: _I’m gonna learn to love your creepy ass face even if it fucking kills me._

 

Because he loves Nines. And if Nines is willing to go through all this shit for him, the least Gavin can do is accept him.

 

“He’s in a coma right now,” Chloe says.

 

Gavin freezes.

 

She indicates to the part of the glass showing Nines’ brain activity. “He’s been in a coma for a few days. We’ve been monitoring his progress and we’ve stabilized him. For now, there’s little risk that we will lose him. It’s only a matter of when he’ll wake up.”

 

Gavin feels his eyes begin to prickle.

 

“Would you like to see him?”

 

He nods, not trusting his voice.

 

“RK? Please take Detective Reed to room 313.”

 

Gavin stiffens but swallows his unease and follows after the android. Once inside the room with Nines, Gavin immediately rushes over to his side. He takes his left hand, the warmth and weight of it making his vision blur and he suddenly feels even more stupid for caring that he’ll never see Nines’ face again. Nines is here and as soon as he wakes up, they’ll be together again.

 

“I’m here, babe,” Gavin whispers, a tear slipping down his cheek. “And I’m never fucking leaving you again.”

 

And so he sits and waits, never once letting the gangster’s hand go. Not even as RK lurks in the background, watching, its LED whirling yellow.

 

* * *

 

He soon loses track of the days, his afternoons and evenings spent at Nines’ bedside. Even his return to the DPD, ‘an olive branch’ Chloe later tells him in private, feels like a lackluster affair. Though he’s happy to be back with Chen and Miller, he’s still barely on speaking terms with Connor, is as friendly as he needs to be with Hank. But all he can ever think about is if Nines will wake up while he’s away.

 

So when he’s not at work, he’s at Cyberlife. He stays as late as Chloe will allow, tells Nines about the random shit he’s been up to, and takes a few digs at Connor when he gets a chance. Nines always hated him talking about Connor so he rarely did it when they were together. Now, he gets the feeling Nines would be amused by all the shade Gavin throws at his ex-partner.

 

Sometimes, Gavin sees Ralph. He’s not quite sure what Ralph’s up to but gets the sense that he’s somehow working for Chloe. Ralph stops by to check on Nines and when he sees the gangster still in his coma, the expression on Ralph’s usually jovial face falls.

 

“Ralph brought coffee,” Ralph says, setting it on the nearby by bed stand.

 

Gavin grunts a ‘thanks’ but doesn’t touch it, his fingers laced through Nines’. The longer Nines remains like this, the more the doubt starts to creep in the detective’s mind and he wonders if Nines will ever wake up.

 

“Ralph thinks the detective should get some fresh air. Maybe go for a walk.”

 

“Don’t need no fresh air,” Gavin mumbles.

 

The young gangster gives him the kind of look one would wear if they saw a puppy being kicked.

 

“Fuck, fine.”

 

He doesn’t like the dark thoughts that whisper all the outcomes he doesn’t want to think about so maybe getting away for a bit might help clear his head.

 

He reluctantly lets the gangster’s hand go, takes the cup of coffee, and follows Ralph back up to the surface. He makes a point of avoiding looking at the military androids being tested and even flips off RK when RK greets them near the security entrance. Ralph gets distracted and tries to engage the talking toaster in some rambling conversation about honey bees and Gavin finally loses his patience and drags the gangster through the door.

 

“Ralph likes RK,” the gangster announces, happily.

 

“Fucking Christ, it’s a walking piece of plastic. You gonna go make matching friendship bracelets now?”

 

Ralph’s face lights up. “Would RK like that?”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes, letting the kid carry on with his wild speculations about what androids would like as gifts. It somehow turns into a one-sided debate about Mothman versus Dracula and Gavin decides he’s almost had his fill of Ralph for the night just as they reach the park outside. Seeing a nearby trash can, he tosses out his empty cup of coffee.

 

“We should head back. Gettin’ kinda chilly out here.”

 

Ralph is quiet and it’s the first time in what feels like fucking hours that the kid’s stopped talking. It’s almost unsettling.

 

“Ralph?”

 

“Nines was sad,” the gangster suddenly says. Gavin looks at him sharply. “When Nines and Ralph hid, Nines was always sad.”

 

There’s a dull thud in Gavin’s chest. “You sure about that?”

 

He somehow doubts Nines would let anyone, much less Ralph, see him as anything less than a terrifying asshole two seconds away from pulling the trigger. He also doesn’t want to think of Nines being that upset.

 

Ralph nods enthusiastically. “Nines was extra mean to Ralph. Nines is only that mean when Nines is very sad.”

 

“You sure it’s not cuz you kept asking him if Mothman’s stronger than Dracula?” Gavin asks, not quite convinced.

 

“Nines said ‘Dracula’.”

 

“There you go. There’s your fucking answer.”

 

Gavin begins walking back to Cyberlife.

 

“...Nines missed the detective...”

 

Gavin pulls his lower chapped lip between his teeth, says nothing else on the walk back.

 

Two days later, he sees a god damn pink and yellow friendship bracelet on RK’s wrist. He snorts back a laugh and though Nines doesn’t wake up, the grin doesn’t leave Gavin’s face the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

By now, he’s gotten used to the sound of the monitor beeping. It’s in his head even when he sleeps. A steady _beep...beep...beep_ that plays in the background as blue bleeds from his hands and spills from the pier.

 

“Don’t leave me,” he always begs.

 

_Beep...beep...beep…_

 

“G-Gav...”

 

There’s the violent blinking of red, painting the side of its metallic face in its angry light. It lays dying on the pier, its mouth open, staring up at Gavin with sad, gray eyes.

 

_Beep...beep...beep…_

 

And the sudden pitch of static has Gavin startling awake. His ears are ringing, the static so loud, it pierces his brain. He grunts painfully, tears springing to his eyes, the hand gripping his weakly tugging. Gavin’s not sure what’s going on, forgets where he is, and blearily glances around for the source of the noise.

 

“G-G-a-a-v…”

 

The weird static is starting to sound like his name. His eyes fall sharply to the man lying on the bed and when he sees those parted lips attempting to form sounds, feels the hand pulling at his, he forgets his discomfort. He’s grasping Nines hand in both of his now, kisses the gangster’s knuckles, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. The sounds Nines is making are eerie and inhuman but Gavin doesn’t give a shit, is babbling all sorts of nonsense as the gangster squeezes his hand back. Nines is awake and it’s all that fucking matters.

 

But their reunion is short lived as it’s clear that something is very wrong with the gangster. His pupils widen and dilate and he makes a sound so high-pitched, pain shoots through Gavin’s head. Then, in a sudden burst of adrenaline, Nines is ripping away his hand and rolling off the bed. The tubes attached to him tug at the monitors, one clattering noisily to the floor but Gavin barely registers it as his hands are covering his ears and he’s crying out in pain, trying to silence the pitch that feels as if it’s ripping through his brain.

 

“N-Nines!” he grunts out.

 

He stares blearily at the gangster, sees the pain and confusion in his eyes. He wishes he could reach for him but Gavin needs him to stop making that sound.

 

“Neutralize him!” Chloe demands.

 

A team of engineers and the Cyberlife CEO burst into the room, followed closely by an android. Gavin hears the fear in her voice but more terrifyingly, he sees the way Nines’ eyes sharply fall to her and the scientists and his stomach drops as he recognizes that look: it’s the one of a predator sizing up a threat.

 

With inhuman reflexes, Nines grabs the nearest engineer and throws him through the glass wall connecting this room to the observation area beside it.

 

“800, get the detective somewhere safe!” Chloe snaps.

 

Gavin tries to scramble away but then the android is grabbing him and dragging him towards the door. He attempts to twist out of its iron grip, desperate to reach Nines before he or anyone else gets hurt. But there’s no escaping the android’s hold on him.

 

“You can’t fucking kick me out! You can’t—!”

 

The door seals and locks behind them.

 

Gavin’s vibrating with energy and directs most of that in the form of anger when 800 brings him to one of the empty offices still within the RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT wing. Sneering at the android, Gavin storms about the room and shouts all sorts of abuse at it.

 

“You fucking assholes! The fuck you do to him?”

 

“That is information I do not have access to,” 800 says monotonously, its brown eyes blinking at Gavin.

 

“Fucking useless piece of plastic! Let me the fuck outta here!”

 

He tries to shove past the android but it merely steps between him and the door, blocking his exit. He then attempts to push it out of the way but he may as well be trying to break through a brick wall, the android rooted in its spot. Its LED blinks yellow rapidly when Gavin punches its shoulder but then the detective’s cussing out loud in pain and clutching his fist. The entire time, the robot simply stares at him.

 

“Ms. Weber has not issued a directive to release you. For your safety, you should remain here.”

 

“This is bullshit! You can’t fucking do this to me! I’m a fucking cop!”

 

The android blinks once more, its LED emitting rapid yellow bursts before it swirls to a calm blue. 800 then tilts its head. “You are attempting intimidation using your authority. Yet, the authority of police officers is only applicable to humans. As I am an android and not alive, you have no authority over me.”

 

Gavin gapes at the plastic asshole, for a moment, too dumbfounded to say anything. “...fucking smart ass.”

 

With a grumble, he storms to the opposite end of the room, keeping as much distance between himself and the tin can. He’s shaking, can’t stop shaking, and he’s not sure if he wants to break down and sob or punch the nearest surface. Apparently, he didn’t learn his lesson from trying to fight an android because his fist twitches at his side. To calm himself down, he takes out his cigarettes and goes through the rest of the pack.

 

“Detective Reed, this is a ‘non smoking’ facility,” the android reminds him for the fiftieth fucking time.

 

Just to be that much of an asshole, Gavin strolls right up to it—the android having not moved from its spot in front of the door—and blows smoke in its face.

 

Its LED goes red.

 

“The fuck you gonna do about it, prick?” Gavin demands.

 

It stares at him, unable to make any expression, though the swirling of red at its temple serves as some sort of warning. Deciding not to push his luck, Gavin flips it off and finishes his cigarette off where he was before, leaning against the opposite wall and glowering.

 

From then, it feels like hours of waiting before Chloe reappears and Gavin can already tell from the expression on her face that he isn’t going to like what she has to say.

 

“Can I see him yet? Or you assholes gonna make me sit around here all night?”

 

She fidgets with the sleeve of her lab coat and that’s when Gavin’s eyes drop to her wrist. Deep bruises in the shape of fingers mar the pale flesh. Dread settles in the detective’s stomach: Chloe’s spooked and he’s got a good feeling he knows why.

 

“I don’t believe it’s safe for you to see Mr. Stern right now,” she explains, carefully.

 

“You better not have fucking hurt him!”

 

“He’s not the one you should be worried about,” she says, icily. “If anything, you should show more concern for the engineers he’s injured.”

 

He’s about to cuss her out for having that fucking attitude of hers but then he sees the bruising on her wrist once more and swallows uncomfortably.

 

“He do that to you?”

 

Chloe tugs the sleeve and tries to hide the wound, her gaze cool.

 

“He’s probably confused after all that shit you put in his head,” Gavin sneers. “You pricks turned him into a fucking lab rat without any god damn idea what this shit would do to him. The fuck did you expect?”

 

He saw the confusion in Nines’ eyes earlier, felt it in the way Nines struggled to say his name. Nines going ape shit after coming out of his coma was probably a best case scenario. Whatever the fuck her and her asshole scientists did after he left, it probably only made shit worse for the gangster.

 

“I’m gonna see him,” Gavin declares, moving towards the door.

 

800 is once more between him and the exit.

 

“I just told you it wasn’t safe,” Chloe says, her tone harsh. But Gavin detects a shaky tremble that she’s failing to hide. “You should go home, detective.”

 

“You fucking need me, Clo,” Gavin snaps, turning on his heels and pointing accusingly at her. “You wanna get through to him? I’m your best fucking bet.”

 

She looks hesitantly between 800 and Gavin. Gavin doesn’t want to have to plead but he’s reaching the end of his rope. He doesn’t want to be sent away when he knows Nines is somewhere in here, awake and being prodded at by engineers. It’s all fucking bullshit and they wouldn’t be here if Chloe hadn’t manipulated them to get what she wanted.

 

“Take Detective Reed to Mr. Stern, in room 304,” Chloe orders the android. Before Gavin’s escorted out of the room, she hands him a small device. “You may need this if Mr. Stern is unable to calm down.”

 

Gavin’s blood runs cold as she hands him the same device Kamski had used to torture Nines.

 

“You better not have fucking used this,” Gavin says, shaking with anger.

 

Chloe’s gaze is like steel. “It was a necessary precaution.”

 

 _Cunt,_ Gavin thinks and only just holds back the insult. He pockets it and storms out.

 

He’s taken most of the way down the hallway, silent and fuming until they reach room 304. The engineer who had been thrown through the glass is nowhere to be seen, though the other assholes from earlier are there, most of them with bruises and cuts. Serves them fucking right.

 

The engineers exchange looks with 800 when it informs them that Gavin’s been given authorization to enter. He doesn’t get how they can be so fucking calm around a machine attempting to converse with the same authority as a person—people are complicated enough. Try and replicate one? They’ll end up with something far more terrifying than whatever they’ve turned a known murderer into.

 

The heavy doors seal shut behind him. Gavin glances at it and when he sees the multitude of deep indents, the thick metal stained blue as if a fist was trying to punch its way through, a tightness grips his lungs and Gavin feels as if the oxygen’s being slowly sucked from the room.

 

A flickering light overhead only exacerbates that eerie panic as he looks at the damage: a bed overturned, monitors and other devices smashed into pieces, a desk that looks as if it was flung to the opposite end of the room. There’s a one-way mirror no different than they use back at the station that has thick cracks and Gavin can just picture the spineless fucks on the other side, looking in and observing.

 

That’s when he sees him: Nines, huddled in the corner, like a caged, rabid animal, his wild eyes darting frantically about the room, seeking any excuse to strike. Gavin’s heart pounds erratically, the sight before him striking him with a kind of terror that leaves him rooted on the spot. That... _thing_ before him doesn’t look anything at all like the Nines he remembers. The bandages around his face have been removed, patches of pale flesh pulled away to reveal the white layer beneath. Ruffled, blond hair falls across his forehead while an angry light blinks rapidly at his temple. His left hand’s been injured, nails cracked and bleeding as if he’s been clawing away at his makeshift prison. His right hand, however, drips blue, the white metal of his knuckles cracked.

 

He’s bleeding red and blue. Humans don’t _fucking_ bleed blue.

 

Gavin swallows.

 

“H-hey...”

 

It comes out in a squeak.

 

Those eyes dart up to his. Gavin’s blood turns to ice. They seem to challenge him, daring him to see how close he can get before he’s ripped apart. Nines has never looked at him with this much confusion and contempt before and Gavin’s suddenly wondering if he’s in over his head.

 

He coughs to clear his throat, his hands shaking so violently, he has to keep them balled into fists. He tries again. “Nines...”

 

The gangster carefully scrutinizes him, his eyes widening minutely a moment later. There’s a clarity in them that eases the fear that’s left Gavin rooted on the spot and scared shitless. He takes a cautious step forward. But, much to his dismay, Nines shuffles further into his corner.

 

“Stay **away** from me,” Nines commands, his voice crackling with distortion.

 

It’s disturbing how inhuman the gangster sounds and only succeeds in making Gavin tense as he stops. Shamefully, he thinks of that device sitting in his back pocket but he just keeps himself from reaching for it, feels disgusted with himself for even considering it.

 

“C’mon, Nines,” Gavin says, forcing his voice to remain steady. “D-Don’t be like th—”

 

“You are terrified,” Nines cuts in. Those cool, gray eyes narrow.

 

Gavin doesn’t know what to say. Anything besides confirmation would be a big, fucking lie.

 

“Gavin Reed, born October 11, 2002. Police Detective,” Nines says, as if reading off a script. “BPM 197, blood pressure—”

 

“Why the _hell_ are you saying it like that?!” Gavin demands, his voice hitching in panic.

 

“Because this is what I _see_ , Detective. What I am processing,” Nines hisses. Synthetic skin spreads until his LED is hidden, then retracts, as if he has no control. It’s like watching the conflict that must be raging inside his head, the organic parts of him consolidating the new synthetic components. “There is too much...so much...I—I can’t...”

 

He shakes his head in confusion, his shoulders quivering. He’s barely holding himself together and when Nines is driven to that point of fight or flight, he always chooses fight, lashing out at whatever is causing his panic. But Gavin knows that Nines won’t touch him, that all he needs is to reach him.

 

So he buries his unease as deep as it will go, takes another step. And another. He moves heavily and carefully, approaches so that Nines is aware of how close he’s getting, won’t be suddenly spooked. As Gavin tries to reach out to Nines, kneels so he is at the gangster’s level, Nines’ savage gaze flicks up to his.

 

“You should **stop** ,” the gangster says, coldly. It sends a shiver down Gavin’s spine.

 

As Gavin obeys, some of the tension leaves Nines’ shoulders and he adds, quietly, “I might hurt you.”

 

And that’s when Gavin notices the dried, blue blood matting the skin around the gangster’s ears. It’s hard to keep being so afraid when he sees the pain Chloe and her staff inflicted on him, the fucking morons treating him like a caged animal in need of taming.

 

Furious, Gavin pulls the device from his pocket. He sees the panic in Nines’ gaze, the way he flinches back and it devastates him that Nines would even think for a moment that Gavin would need this.

 

Standing up, Gavin drops the device and smashes it with his foot. He stomps on it three more times, just to feel the pieces shatter further. He hopes to god Chloe doesn’t have any more of these because they shouldn’t fucking be using them.

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Gavin insists, kicking the pieces away. He drops to his knees in front of Nines, his voice breaking as he whispers, “Nines, baby...”

 

And Nines finally cracks, falling forward against the detective, allowing Gavin to pull him into his arms. Gavin exhales in relief, holds Nines tightly as the gangster shakes in his embrace, all the while whispering all sorts of reassurances, no different than when the gangster had broken down on the pier: _I’m here, babe...I’ve got you…_

 

“G-Gavin...” Nines’ voice is so worn and weak, it breaks Gavin’s heart. Like a plea.

 

At some point, Chloe and one of the Cyberlife scientists enter the room, followed by a few of those military androids. Nines tenses in Gavin’s arms, and Gavin glares at them.

 

“We’d like to move Mr. Stern to some place more comfortable,” Chloe explains, trepidation on her face as she notes the smashed device on the floor. “He should get some rest.”

 

“Why the fuck should I let you anywhere near him?” Gavin demands, his hackles raised. “You fucking assholes—”

 

“Gavin. This was _my_ choice,” Nines says. He rises unsteadily, helped by the detective and Gavin hates the resignation in the gangster’s eyes. “I will keep my end of the bargain with Cyberlife.”

 

“Fuck Cyberlife!” Gavin hisses. “They fucking manipulated us into this shit!”

 

He wants to take Nines out of here, away from where he has little doubt Chloe and her scientists will subject the gangster to all sorts of shit. But he also knows she’s not about to let him walk out of here with her prized experiment.

 

“I will not tell you how unwise it is to attempt to forcefully remove Mr. Stern from this facility,” Chloe says, her tone hard. “However, you must be aware that even _if_ that was a possibility, Mr. Stern is unable to survive more than a few days without access to thirium-310, a product manufactured in this facility alone and not yet available on the market. He needs time to recover.”

 

“Like I’d fucking believe you, you two-faced bit—!”

 

“Gavin!” Nines cuts in, sharply. His right hand tightens on Gavin’s shoulder and the detective winces painfully. The gangster loosens his grip, synthetic skin receding in patches, and a shamed expression passes over his face. “She is right. I...cannot properly control my upgrades. I _need_ to remain here.”

 

He looks humiliated at having to admit that. Gavin, who’s so fucking sick of this place, just wants Nines to come home with him, away from all the fucking lab tests and these creepy, fucking plastics.

 

“I have contacted the head engineer who performed your surgeries. She will be arriving at the facility shortly to run a full diagnostics on your new components,” Chloe says. She then turns to Gavin. “You should go home and rest, Detective. Mr. Stern will otherwise be occupied for the next few hours.”

 

He can’t explain why but he’s got a bad feeling about all of this.

 

“I’m not leaving him alone with you or your fucking scientists,” he snaps.

 

From the look on her face, her lips pulled in a thin line, Gavin can tell she’s neared the end of her patience. But he’s ready to argue this until he’s blue in the face, refusing to back down from her or Cyberlife’s bullshit.

 

“Darling,” Nines says, the softness at which he utters the word causing the detective to slightly deflate. His left hand takes Gavin by the chin and though the tips of his fingers are caked with dried blood, Gavin’s so starved for his touch that he forgets Chloe and everyone else in the room, leans into the touch. “Your stress levels are high. My readings indicate you have not been sleeping well. You are overworked and not nearly well-rested. You should do as Chloe says.”

 

“But, babe—”

 

“I will, of course, expect you back here in the morning.”

 

And to keep Gavin from arguing, Nines—manipulative asshole that he is—presses his lips to Gavin’s. It’s been so long since Gavin’s kissed him, he submits completely, color filling his cheeks when he makes a tiny whimper at the back of his throat. They’ve got a god damn audience and yet he’s kissing Nines as if the gangster’s been away for years at war and only just returned home.

 

“First thing in the morning,” Gavin promises roughly against Nines’ lips.

 

After assuring him he would be fine, Nines lets the scientist and androids escort him away, giving Gavin’s hand a gentle squeeze before he leaves. Still, Gavin’s so reluctant to let go and it takes everything to bury that unease he feels, to watch as Nines walks away. The sadness Gavin feels at his departure is quickly replaced with his fury when he’s finally alone in the room with Chloe.

 

“Next time this happens, you fucking tell me,” Gavin says, angrily. “No more of these torture devices.”

 

“I did what I had to in order to protect my staff,” Chloe argues. But seeing how upset Gavin is, her cool expression softens, “However, I’m aware that our methods were unethical. I’ll consider other means in the future, should this happen again.”

 

Hearing nothing disingenuous in her words, Gavin relaxes. But he’s not ready to drop his guard as the more he sees of Cyberlife, the less he trusts whatever it is they’ve got planned.

 

“I’ll be back in a few hours. If anything fucking happens to him...”

 

“I can assure you, Detective Reed, that we are just as much invested in making sure he survives,” Chloe says, attempting to placate him. “If you don’t trust I have a genuine interest in keeping him alive, at least trust that Cyberlife has devoted enough of our resources that doing anything to hinder Mr. Stern’s recovery would result in a significant financial loss. He’s worth more to us alive than dead.”

 

“At least you fucking vultures are honest.”

 

He storms out without saying much else, fighting every urge to give Chloe the bird when she tries to wish him a goodnight. He’s that fucking done with Cyberlife but a feeling in his gut is telling him none of this is nearly over. He’s not even sure what good going home will do if he’s just gonna pace around all night worrying his ass off over what Cyberlife’s doing to Nines. At least he’s got the day off.

 

He barely sleeps that night and before he knows it, he’s back in the pristine halls of Cyberlife, impatient to see his lover.

 

“Director Weber would like a word with you,” Chloe’s assistant informs him.

 

Gavin huffs irritably but that’s how he finds himself in her office on a Sunday morning. He looks and feels like shit from tossing and turning all night on what little hours he tried to sleep and suspects Chloe slept even less. Yet, the Cyberlife CEO looks as carefully put together as always.

 

Chloe smiles in greeting, though her expression is somewhat strained. “Good morning, Detective.”

 

This shitty ass morning feels anything but good. However, Gavin grunts a greeting, fidgeting impatiently.

 

“I’m not sure how to tell you this without upsetting you,” Chloe begins and that smile becomes a hesitant frown. Gavin feels a sick sensation settle in the pit of his stomach. “It will take a bit of time for Mr. Stern to adjust to the upgrades he’s received, as you witnessed from last night. My engineers and I discussed it this morning and...we think it’s safest for everyone if we limit Mr. Stern’s contact with non-synthetic staff during his recovery.”

 

He feels as if his heart’s been ripped from his chest, having Nines taken from him so soon after being reunited.

 

“D-Don’t,” Gavin begs, already feeling he’s on the verge of hysteria. “Don’t fucking do this to me, Clo. You fucking owe me!”

 

“If you must know, I argued _against_ this. However, it’s a decision that Mr. Stern has also agreed to,” Chloe says, calmly. Gavin doesn’t want to believe Nines would shut him out like this but he sees how Chloe is not thrilled with the news she has to deliver. Then again, he’s not about to fall for any shit she says.

 

“You’re fucking lying.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me, Detective. It doesn’t change that I am following a decision that both the Doctor and Stern have made. Yet, that doesn’t mean you can’t be kept up to date on Mr. Stern’s condition until his release.”

 

She pushes a small box towards him, which Gavin half-heartedly lifts from the edge of the desk. He opens it and finds a phone sitting inside, one of the newest models on the market. He glares.

 

“I don’t need your fucking gifts.”

 

“Trust me, Detective: you’ll want this one.”

 

There are three contacts in the phone: a direct line to Chloe, Ralph (who also has somehow already sent him a dozen memes about geckos), and Niles Deckert.

 

“Who the fuck is Niles Deckert?” Gavin asks. “That the unhelpful asshole who nearly shit himself last night?”

 

He’s guessing it’s whatever asshole scientist they have monitoring Nines.

 

Chloe smiles. “Something tells me you will be speaking a lot with Mr. Deckert on Mr. Stern’s progress.”

 

Gavin doubts it.

 

“Your temporary clearance has been revoked. We will keep you informed on Mr. Stern’s status. Cyberlife will be in touch with you, Detective,” Chloe says.

 

He knows when he’s being dismissed and while every part of him wants to shout and argue until Chloe damn well lets him see Nines, he’s too worn to muster the energy, too exhausted to have this fight right now. The security guards standing nearby also remind him he’s been outplayed and outgunned and that they’re not about to put up with any angry outbursts. Worst of all, he’s god damn _hurt_ that Nines doesn’t want him here and while he can tell himself this is just Chloe lying to him, part of him wonders if she’s not—as Nines taking off to deal with shit on his own is kinda his MO—and he’s not quite ready to have that confirmed by the gangster himself.

 

It’s when he’s sitting in his car, staring miserably out the windshield and not really looking at anything, that his new phone vibrates. An incoming text.

 

[Niles Deckert Mar 25 07:51 AM]

_I hope you are not angry with me._

 

Gavin inhales sharply.

 

[Niles Deckert Mar 25 07:51 AM]

_I promised that the next time we meet, I will be deserving of you. I still intend on keeping that promise._

 

Gavin doesn’t wait for the message ‘Niles’ is typing, is already clicking on the contact and calling them. His fingers are shaking as he holds the phone to his ear.

 

It’s answered on the second ring.

 

“Darling,” a voice says softly.

 

Gavin’s voice is trembling as he whispers, “Nines.”

 

* * *

 

_April 2040_

 

“You really that fucking bored?” Gavin smirks, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he bends down to dump the contents of the can in Socks’ dish. The little asshole’s been meowing nonstop since Gavin finished his shower, fresh from his morning jog. He should have fed the little prick before going out this morning.

 

“You have no idea,” comes the voice on the other end, the posh accent throwing Gavin off for a moment. Nines has used it a few times during their conversations, explained that once he’s out of Cyberlife, Gavin will be hearing it a lot more. Gavin would much rather hear _Nines’_ voice, not _Niles._

 

“It’s like the fifth time you called me this week,” Gavin points out.

 

“Perhaps I miss the sound of your voice.”

 

“It’s Monday, babe.”

 

“...perhaps I _really_ miss the sound of your voice.”

 

Gavin chuckles. Nines could fucking call him at the crack of dawn on a Sunday and read the dictionary to him using his obnoxious British accent and Gavin doesn’t think he’d get bored. Fuck, Nines calling him is enough to make even the shittiest day a billion times better so Gavin won’t complain.

 

“You know when Chloe’s gonna let you go?”

 

A pause. Gavin tries not to get his hopes up, though he’s been getting increasingly impatient. That moment they had together, even if most of it was spent with Gavin trying to help Nines through his panic, had made him long for the gangster’s touch again. He was annoyed at first—and fuck, did they argue—when Nines insisted he wanted to recover on his own. The phone has at least helped, though nothing can replace Nines being in the same room as him.

 

“Would ‘soon’ be a satisfying answer for you?”

 

“No,” Gavin scoffs. “Fucking Christ, haven’t you already figured out how to use your robot arm? Why the fuck’s she keeping you there?”

 

“I can think of numerous incidents that have prevented my early release,” Nines answers. “The fact that my optical unit has already gone offline twice, my audio components malfunctioned numerous times, I spent one afternoon speaking entirely in Cantonese—though I have never spoken a word of it in my life—and let’s not forget the numerous times I have accidentally used too much force and broken things when attempting to pick them up with my ‘robot arm’.”

 

“...you just ‘air quote’ that? You fucking did, didn’t you? It _is_ a fucking robot arm!”

 

“It is a _prosthetic_ ,” Nines hisses.

 

“Yeah, whatever, Terminator.”

 

“I do not understand why you keep insisting on nicknaming me after _every_ synthetic creature from popular culture.”

 

“You rather I call you Wall-E?”

 

Nines sniffs. “ _I_ am clearly Eve. _You_ would be Wall-E.”

 

“Why the fuck am I the one who collects trash?!”

 

“Darling...must you ask?”

 

“Wait...when the fuck did you watch that movie?!”

 

Gavin leans against the counter, folding his arms over his bare chest as he hears Nines exhale in frustration.

 

“As we established, I have been bored.”

 

“So tell them to let you out. They can’t fucking keep you there forever.”

 

“It’s...not that simple. There is...something I need to do first.”

 

Gavin’s blood runs cold. “Don’t tell me Chloe’s getting you to do some shady shit. I thought she was all about cleaning up Cyberlife.”

 

Nines is silent for a moment. “It is not something nefarious, if that is what you are concerned with. However, I will need to do this one thing before we can see each other.”

 

A knock at the door startles Gavin, nearly causing him to drop his new phone.

 

Socks meows in front of the door and begins pawing at the floor in front of it.

 

“Gimme a minute, babe. Food’s here.”

 

Not in the mood to go out on his day off, Gavin decided to order shwarma from the place down the street. He moves Socks out of the way using his foot, not giving the little shit a chance to run out into the hall. It’s not as if the cat can get very far—that bell’s as good as any GPS so long as the cat’s within the building.

 

Gavin opens the door and this time, actually drops his phone.

 

The man on the other side of the door is easily the most handsome person he’s ever seen and not even those thick, black-rimmed glasses can diminish his beauty. If anything, they accentuate the v-line shape of his jaw, the perfect curvature of his nose, and the brightness of his gray eyes. A strand of blond hair falls out of place, curling over his left eye and the charming smile he wears—so familiar that it makes all the deviations in his appearance dissipate until Gavin is only seeing _Nines_ in front of him—has the detective’s heart beating rapidly.

 

“I must apologize, darling,” Nines says, removing his phone from his ear and ending the call. “I would have arrived sooner but I needed to bring you these first.”

 

And Gavin’s eyes fall to the bouquet of roses the gangster holds.

 

He doesn’t know who moves first or how it happens but soon, the door’s shutting loudly, the roses somehow end up on the floor, and Gavin and Nines are holding each other tightly, clinging to each other as someone cries. Probably Gavin. It’s always fucking Gavin.

 

“Y-you asshole,” Gavin cusses, his voice muffled against Nines’ shoulder. “Y-you fucking asshole!”

 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Nines whispers, his throat thick with emotion. He sounds like himself now, smells just as Gavin remembers. His face may look different and his grip somewhat awkward—most likely, due to that stupid robot arm—but Gavin’s melting into his embrace, gives zero fucks as he breathes in his cologne.

 

 _Don’t ever fucking leave me again,_ he thinks, desperately.

 

“I promise you that this time, I am staying,” Nines says.

 

Gavin didn’t even realize he had said that aloud as he babbled into Nines’ shoulder.

 

At their feet, Socks meows and weaves through their legs, his little bell chiming.

 

Nines makes a face. “...I just had these tailored...”

 

But Gavin sees how the gangster’s eyes catch the name tag Socks is wearing.

 

Hardly any more words are exchanged—they’ve had weeks of that already—before Gavin’s mouth is seeking out the gangster’s and he’s kissing him. It’s soft, hesitant at first, as he reacquaints himself with the feel of Nines’ lips, pins Nines against the door. It’s...surprisingly, almost the same, though Gavin knows what he’s kissing is synthetic. But it’s a far cry from the mask Nines had worn only months before, his new ‘flesh’ nearly indistinguishable from real skin. A gasp echoes at the back of Gavin’s throat as hands slide up the exposed flesh of his backside, tugging him possessively against the gangster’s chest and Nines uses that opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue slides hungrily against the detective’s and the last of Gavin’s trepidation slips away as Gavin kisses him back just as eagerly, his fingers weaving through soft, golden hair.

 

Gavin’s food arrives shortly after that, though he’s no longer craving shwarma. By then, Nines is on his knees, the gangster deep throating him, when the knock comes at his door. They somehow maneuver so Gavin blindly reaches through the crack to get his food while Nines greedily sucks off the detective, swallowing him as if he’s been thirsting for dick for that god damn long. Neither really cares if the poor delivery person knows what the fuck is going on because Gavin’s soon dragging Nines to his bedroom, their clothes discarded all throughout the apartment.

 

“Keep them on,” Gavin growls when Nines attempts to remove his glasses.

 

Nines’ hair now falls in dark brown tufts, ruffled out of their carefully styled coif. He thought he would be sadder at the loss of the face he fell in love with but the more he stares at it, the more he can only see Nines and he wonders how in the fuck anyone’s gonna be fooled by it.

 

“I never knew you had a glasses kink,” Nines teases.

 

“Fucking digging the Clark Kent look, babe,” Gavin says.

 

Not that he’d ever admit it to Nines, who has teased him in the past for his love of comic book heroes, but Clark Kent is right up there with Dick Grayson for fictional characters Gavin wishes could top him.

 

“I think I am less noble than Superman.”

 

“Don’t give a shit. Just put your god damn dick in me, already.”

 

Nines pins Gavin beneath him on the bed, the power in his right arm enough to keep the detective in place. Just knowing Nines now has the strength to crush bone in the palm of his hand is both terrifying and hot as shit and Gavin’s so fucking aroused, he’s half surprised he doesn’t blow his load before Nines has even started stretching him. His fingers are soon replaced with his dick, full and weeping as it finds its home in the detective, and Gavin’s biting down on his lip to hold back a cry as Nines carefully presses into him. The bullet the ex-gangster wears dangles around his neck and once Nines is fully seated, Gavin reaches for it with the hand that wears the LED.

 

Nines shudders, drops his forehead against Gavin’s as he gives time for Gavin to adjust. But the detective can tell Nines is just as overwhelmed, his voice making these strange sounds that whir and pitch. It almost ruins the mood for Gavin. But then he’s feeling shaky exhales caress his lips and it reminds him that though parts of Nines now bleed blue, he’s still as human as he’s always been.

 

“Gavin,” Nines whispers, the detective’s name breaking with static.

 

There’s so much emotion in his voice, trembling with everything he’s wishing to say but that he holds back. Gavin knows because he’s thinking that, too.

 

“N-Nines, baby,” Gavin begs, keening as his lover builds a steady rhythm.

 

Neither of them last long, though Gavin couldn’t give a shit. Too caught up in each other, the detective’s whines become desperate pleas for release as he’s being fucked into his mattress, his name a distorted mantra that spills off the gangster’s tongue. When he finally cums, thick ropes painting both their chests, the sound Nines makes is near inhuman, a crackling in his voice box with no coherent meaning. But any discomfort to Gavin’s ears is very quickly forgotten as Nines spills inside of him, the gangster collapsing into the detective’s embrace, emptying himself with a few final weak thrusts.

 

In the aftermath, as they lay covered in cum, Gavin sighs in contentment and curls back against the gangster’s chest, shivering as Nines licks at the beads of perspiration that have gathered at the back of his neck.

 

“I was strongly ‘advised’ to avoid strenuous activities until I have become more accustomed to my upgrades,” Nines admits.

 

Avoid ‘strenuous activities’? Asshole didn’t even break a sweat and Gavin’s bemusedly wondering if that’s another side effect of his upgrades.

 

Nines traces the deep bruises his fingers left on Gavin’s hip. It had hurt but fuck, did Gavin like it.

 

“The fuck did Chloe think you were coming over here for? Fucking tea time?”

 

“ _Niles_ would not be opposed to that,” Nines says, kissing the side of Gavin’s neck.

 

It’s gonna take some getting used to, having to call him ‘Niles’ from now on.

 

“When you gotta go back?”

 

“Chloe would like me to return tomorrow morning for more testing,” Nines answers. “Until then, I am all yours, detective.”

 

Gavin’s already got a good idea what they’ll be doing tonight.

 

“You are still wearing this.”

 

Nines lifts Gavin’s left hand, touching the LED where it sits on Gavin’s finger. The detective can’t help but blush.

 

“Of course I am. Had to make sure you came back,” Gavin mumbles.

 

“May I see it?”

 

Gavin feels strange letting Nines remove it, the ring feeling as if it’s been part of him for so long, he can’t remember a time he wasn’t wearing it. Even when at the gym or showering, he keeps it on his finger, half-paranoid that if he removes it, Nines will disappear from his life forever.

 

But he trusts Nines now, knows that there will be no more secrets between them. So, he nods.

 

Nines takes it in his right hand and slowly, the skin on his fingers begins to peel back. Seeing the white metal that lays beneath the synthetic flesh makes Gavin suddenly anxious but he swallows his discomfort and watches as the LED lights up. It turns a bright shade of yellow before settling to a pale blue.

 

“I am syncing the signal in this LED with the one my chip emits,” Nines explains. “So long as you are within proximity of me, you will be able to pick up the signal.”

 

The synthetic skin returns to his fingers and Gavin is once more at ease. That’s yet another thing he’ll have to get used to.

 

Nines slips the ring back on, a tenderness in his expression. He looks quite seriously at Gavin and whispers, softly, “I hope to someday replace this ring with a better one.”

 

And Gavin can’t stop himself, feels his vision cloud as he utters, the words thick on his tongue, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

 

Now that he’s saying it, not driven to the point of desperation as he had the first time, he wonders why it’s always been so difficult. Because as Nines kisses him, softly whispers the words back against Gavin’s lips, Gavin knows that there’s only ever been one outcome for them, one ending. Nines is the last man he’s ever gonna love.

 

* * *

 

_July 2040_

 

He stares into his boyfriend’s eyes, his pulse racing. Parts of Nines’ face may be different—his jawline sharper, nose smaller—but those eyes are still the same shade of gray, still pull Gavin in every time they capture his gaze. He remembered once, months before, sitting in Nines’ lap and carefully scrutinizing the right from the left, expecting to find an imperfection, perhaps a discoloration in the iris that would distinguish the synthetic from its organic counterpart. Instead, he found that they looked identical.

 

“May I have my kiss now? Or will you make me _beg_ for it?” Nines teases.

 

Gavin smirks. “Wouldn’t mind a little begging, babe. Gotta make you work for it.”

 

Nines makes a rough sound as Gavin tugs on the tie the ex-gangster’s wearing. Asshole got him all worked up in the car—a fucking _Aston Martin!_ Gavin shouldn’t have been so fucking hasty in rejecting Chloe’s ‘gifts’—and he’s been at half-mast for the last thirty minutes. The only thing more satisfying than their lips crashing together is Nines pressing against him and fuck, is he just as hard, just as desperate to get out of their god damn clothes and move this show to the nearest available surface. They’ve fucked everywhere in this penthouse and Gavin can’t decide if the facial he received in the study or being bound and bent over the coffee table had been his favorite: he loves having Nines’ hot cum on his face just as much as he loves a good pounding, even if it does taste a bit...strange.

 

“Your cum’s gotten weird, babe,” Gavin recalls telling Nines a few weeks ago.

 

His ring blinked yellow a few times as Nines smirked in bemusement, used his thumb to collect some of the spunk that had dribbled down Gavin’s chin. The ex-gangster had swiped his tongue over the pad of it and it had been hot as fuck, Gavin momentarily forgetting what the fuck he had said. “How so?”

 

His brain had needed a few moments to catch up. “It, uh, tastes like...well, nothing.”

 

Nines had tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “It must be due to the thirium-310. I can let Chloe know what you said and have the engineers look into it.”

 

“Wh-what?! Don’t fucking tell her I said that!”

 

Nines had laughed at Gavin before staring at him with a hunger that had made Gavin shiver, especially when his eyes had dropped to the hard-on straining against the detective’s jeans. “I should do something about _that_ , darling, before it becomes uncomfortable.”

 

It’s conversations like this that have stuck in Gavin’s brain, moments where there’s been something almost... _off_ and he can’t be sure if it’s the reminder of Nines’ physical changes or something else entirely that’s bothered Gavin. Sometimes, when Nines is ‘asleep’—doing some weird cyborg shit that mimics sleep but is not quite the same—Gavin finds himself staring at his boyfriend and he gets this startling thought that he’s sharing a bed with a complete stranger.

 

But...Nines has never actually given him any indication that he’s not, well, _Nines._ There have been lapses in his memory but Gavin’s written that off as whatever shit Cyberlife put in his head. After the multiple head surgeries and the coma, Gavin can’t expect Nines to remember _everything_.

 

He tried asking Connor about it once—the only time he’s been civil to the lieutenant in months—but even Connor brushed off Gavin’s paranoia as being nothing but that.

 

“Perhaps it’s your own prejudice that’s making you think this,” Connor had said, in that condescending way of his. Of course, Gavin gets he was just being defensive of what seemed like an attack on Nines for having prosthetics but it had still pissed Gavin off. “He’s been through a lot already, Gav. You can afford to show more patience.”

 

“I’m not being ‘prejudiced’. I’m just saying that shit gets weird between us sometimes.”

 

And Connor had made a disgusted face. “I have no interest in hearing about your sex life.”

 

“Wh-what?! N-No! That’s not...wh-why the fuck would I talk to you about _that?!_ ”

 

He had ended up getting so fucking annoyed, he had simply dropped it and grumbled about Connor being a dipshit as he moodily trudged back to his desk.

 

But Gavin’s since decided he’s not going to reflect on these strange things, just needs time to adjust to their new normal. Nines being a cyborg parading as a charming representative from Cyberlife is a far cry from the backdoor drug deals and headless corpses, yet it’s one Gavin’s slowly becoming used to.

 

Before things get too heated, Gavin tearing at buttons to rid Nines of his shirt, an insistent meowing at the detective’s feet has him groaning impatiently against Nines’ lips.

 

“F-fuck off, S-Socks,” Gavin pants, gasps as Nines’ thigh presses against his clothed erection. “D-Daddy’s busy.”

 

His eyes fly open wide, breaking off the kiss as Nines tries to once again deepen it. His gaze flicks down to the cat rubbing against his leg and then to his boyfriend. “What the fuck’s my cat doing here?”

 

“I had Ralph drop him off, as well as a few things Socks will need for his ‘visit’,” Nines explains. When Gavin looks at him questioningly, Nines huffs. “Ralph did not break into your place, if that is what you are concerned about. I gave him my key.”

 

They had exchanged keys not that long ago, though Gavin’s is a card key he uses for access to the penthouse elevator. As far as the doorman and staff are concerned, this penthouse is just as much his as it is Nines’, a generous gift from Chloe (Gavin may have reservations accepting fancy toys and high rise homes from the Cyberlife CEO but Nines was only too happy to take them). After the years of bullshit Kamski put Nines through and even Chloe’s more recent experimentation on Nines, it’s the very least she can do.

 

Gavin knows that Nines is trying to better person—not because he suddenly gives a shit about the work he did or the crimes he had committed. Nines has taken this second chance, this new life, to start off clean because it’s what Gavin wants—a clean slate. A chance for them to be a normal couple.

 

That doesn’t mean Gavin’s stopped having nightmares or that he doesn’t catch a glimpse of Nines’ violence in the harsh words they exchange in fights or when Nines’ fist are so tight, it’s as if the ex-gangster struggles to not strike at the source of his aggravation. They both are flawed, still carry their own scars. But, they’re _trying._

 

Nines’ attempt to kiss Gavin fails yet again as Gavin drops to his knees. “Is that a new collar?”

 

Gavin hears his boyfriend huff with impatience but he’s too busy fingering the expensive leather Socks now wears around his furry neck. Fucking designer. “You really needed to get him a Louis Vuitton collar, babe?”

 

“It _suits_ him,” Nines says, obnoxiously.

 

Gavin smirks up at him. “You _looooove_ my cat.”

 

“I think you are reading far too into a simple _gift_ ,” Nines argues, crossing his arms. His designer shirt, now with numerous ripped buttons, is only just kept on his shoulders. Gavin can’t help but be pleased at his handiwork, all that pale flesh with its sporadic pattern of freckles, inviting. “Had you given him a nicer collar to match his name tag, my interference would not have been necessary.”

 

“Yeah, sure, babe,” Gavin snickers. He pets Socks, who purrs contentedly. Eyeing the name tag in question, Gavin can’t help but note how much shinier it looks, turning it over in his fingers. “You get this shined, too…?”

 

His voice trails off as he reads the address on the back of the name tag. It’s different. Heart pounding, he glances up at Nines, who looks suddenly nervous.

 

“I was not sure how long it would take for you to notice this weekend,” Nines admits, a hint of color in his cheeks.

 

Gavin can’t speak, his throat thick, a thousand thoughts racing in his mind. He’s pretty sure he knows what this means, but he’s not sure if he’s even ready, doesn’t know if he should—

 

Nines drops to his knees beside Gavin, his gray eyes shining behind the thick frames of his glasses. Gently, he takes Gavin’s hands. “Move in with me.”

 

And then it’s as if the world’s stopped spinning.

 

Gavin’s been here before, caught up deep in someone he believed he knew better than himself, trusting him implicitly even as the worst of their behaviors eventually destroyed what little was left between them. He can’t do that again, throw everything he has into a dead end relationship until their toxic cycle has run its course too many times and both of them are left embittered shells of who they had been.

 

Luckily, Nines is not Connor. And if these last few months have proven anything to him, it’s that Nines is willing to make that change. For _them._

 

“If you need time to think about it, you do not need to answer right—”

 

“Yes.”

 

It’s said quietly but firmly and Gavin may as well have shouted it with the way Nines is looking at him now.

 

“Fuck, yes!” Gavin says, throwing his arms around Nines’ neck and kissing him deeply. He laughs and grins into the kiss, so fucking happy, he’s not even gonna try and play it cool. When both of them finally break apart for air, Nines scratches Socks under his chin.

 

“Thought you hated cats,” Gavin teases, poking his boyfriend—who he’s now gonna fucking live with—in the chest.

 

Nines sighs in defeat. “If we are to live together, I suppose I have no choice but to get used to sharing our home with this flea-carrying pest you insist on bringing with you.”

 

“He doesn’t have any fucking fleas.”

 

Socks mewls.

 

“Yeah, you tell this asshole, Socks.”

 

Nines makes a sound of disgust. “There will be many rules but the most important one: _your_ cat is not allowed in _our_ bed. I mean it, Gavin!”

 

Gavin fails to hide a smile. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.”

 

His idiot boyfriend has clearly never tried telling a cat where it can and cannot go. Gavin’s guess is that by the end of this weekend, Socks will have already broken that rule numerous times.

 

Gavin kisses him softly. “Fuck, I love you.”

 

Nines smiles against his lips. “I love you, too.”

 

“So, about Socks—”

 

“ _Not_ on the bed.”

 

This rule lasts all of an afternoon as by that night, Socks is curled up behind Nines’ back, who is so spent from all their sex, he grumbles in the detective’s ear, “Just this one time.” But that one time turns into two, then three and four, until eventually, the rule is forgotten completely. Though Nines is reluctant to admit it, Socks has become just as much part of his life as Gavin has.

 

They have their problems, sure. But for the first time in a long while, Gavin is truly happy.

 

He hopes this time, it will last.

 

* * *

 

_March 2040_

Chloe

 

Chloe looks at the time on the corner of the screen: 12:03 AM. She’s not sure how she let the time get away from her. She’s usually better at managing multiple tasks at once, still recalls a time when her main job had been balancing Kamski’s schedule. When it comes to managing other people, she’s a natural. When it comes to managing herself, there are many areas that still need improvement.

 

Sighing, she sits back in her chair and goes through the messages on her data pad. The intercom buzzes, startling her. A manicured finger presses the button. “Yes?”

 

“The director of RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT is ready for you, Ms. Weber.”

 

“Tell her I’m on my way.”

 

That’s why she’s still at her office: the professor had informed her earlier that she would be performing a critical upgrade on RK since he’s their most advanced prototype. Chloe had been reluctant to subject RK to an experiment that could potentially wipe his CPU, as she has grown rather fond of him, yet she trusted the head of development and felt that the risks are worth more than her personal attachment.

 

Personal attachment?

 

 _No,_ she decides. She can’t have a personal attachment to something that isn’t alive. It’s simply the loneliness of long hours spent among cold machines that has made her project something she doesn’t feel on her synthetic companion. In that case, should she find that RK is no longer functional, she will treat it as nothing more than another lab experiment gone wrong.

 

Gathering what she needs, she begins the descent to the lower levels. Cyberlife had recently sent their first TROJAN androids to the military and the results have been very promising. Cyberlife’s stock has been on the rise ever since and more and more industries have invested in Cyberlife’s development of AI. The company’s in a position to become a world leader in technology—to revolutionize the future. With thirium 310 now acting as a source of energy for their prosthetics, Chloe envisions Cyberlife officially breaking into the medical field within the next two years.

 

But, that is not all thirium 310 is used for as it also powers their androids. And after tonight, they may be one step closer to that future Chloe has been pushing the company towards.

 

It’s strange not being greeted by RK the moment Chloe enters the department but it’s not long before she makes it to the director’s office, at the far end of the lowest floor. It’s been turned into the professor’s own personal lair, where she can tinker away with their androids, improving them. Components strewn across every surface, Chloe walks to the corner of the lab where RK is lying across a table, the professor scrutinizing a data pad she holds in her hands.

 

“Is he ready?”

 

Doctor Amanda Stern looks up, with something that may be a smile on her lips. Truthfully, Chloe doesn’t think she’s ever seen the robotics professor smile. “He is ready, Ms. Weber. Though he will need a moment to reboot.”

 

“You may proceed.”

 

Within a minute, RK is coming back online. His gray eyes blink open and the android carefully sits up on the edge of the table, facing the Cyberlife CEO. Much to Chloe’s astonishment, a synthetic layer of skin slowly covers all of RK’s white plating, strands of blond hair falling across his eyes. A smile comes to the CEO’s lips.

 

“Fascinating. You’ve managed to successfully implement the epidermal fluid,” Chloe says.

 

“From the data collected from my son, I have been able to replicate in RK the same cognitive processes Rich will use to enable the fluid,” Doctor Stern answers. “My son has been a most useful test subject.”

 

It had shocked Chloe months before when Doctor Stern had first proposed using this controversial technology on her own son. When they attempted to merge synthetic parts with lab animals, the success rates had been a measly 27.14%, with the majority of test subjects dying. Stern had then suggested they attempt human experimentation, something that would never have been officially approved. Professor Stern had demonstrated nothing but complete apathy when she threw her own son’s name as an option, given that they already had success with the head chip they had given him. All it then took was for Chloe to manipulate Nines into a corner, forcing him to accept an offer he’d never be able to refuse.

 

Through it all, Nines was unaware that Amanda has been the one operating on him and using him as her own guinea pig. When he wakes up, that may be a different story.

 

“I see that RK now bears a striking resemblance to your son,” Chloe remarks.

 

“Do you approve of my appearance, Director Weber?” RK asks.

 

The question takes her by surprise. Her eyes fall to RK’s chest and she feels warmth fill her cheeks. “You look...very human-like, RK.”

 

RK seems pleased with this and a smile spreads on his face. Now that he has human-like flesh, it makes his facial expressions even more pleasant to look at.

 

Chloe can’t help but feel embarrassed that she finds her own robot incredibly attractive.

 

“RK900, please register the name we discussed prior to your reboot,” Amanda says.

 

“My name is Niles Deckert.”

 

Amanda has a smug look on her face as Chloe’s eyes dart to the professor. “He remembers.”

 

“I have successfully integrated the new central processor and backed up his memory. His capacity for learning no longer suffers the same limitations as previous models and with the personality upgrade he has received, he has the potential to pass for human. He will require some guidance, of course, in identifying body language and utilizing appropriate facial expressions. While his programming offers suggestions, learning the intricacies in human interactions will still require practice.”

 

“You’ve done it,” Chloe says, her voice in awe. She circles around the table RK sits on, the android’s eyes following her. It takes all her willpower to not let her gaze linger on the artificial muscles on his backside. She’s never looked twice at Nines, though she would acknowledge his physical beauty. But seeing his body replicated on her android is making her rethink how dismissive she’d always been of Kamski’s prized lackey.

 

“Ms. Weber, I would like to introduce you to Niles, Cyberlife’s first functional AI,” Amanda says. “Niles, run your personality software. Subject: Richard Stern.”

 

When RK catches Chloe sneaking glances at his chest, a cocky half-smirk appears on his face. It’s so out of character for him, so like Nines, that her cheeks burn. It’s amazing how with a single expression, he has transformed into someone else.

 

“You are making yourself too obvious, Ms. Weber,” RK says, with that same smooth, yet slightly obnoxious tone, Nines often uses. Warmth pools low in Chloe’s abdomen, her own body betraying the persistent admonition screaming in her mind. “Perhaps, we can find a solution to _satisfy_ the predicament you find yourself in.”

 

Just the way he purrs that word—promising to fulfill needs she’s forgotten she had with how often she overworks herself—is making her weak in the knees.

 

Amanda glares. “Weeks of carefully crafting my son’s personality into a functional program and _that_ is the kind of conversation you wish to initiate?”

 

The smirk disappears, brows furrowing in mild contempt. Yet the contempt RK expresses does not seem to match the confusion in the android’s voice, proof that his responses are tailored to Nines’ reactions. “I have only chosen the optimal dialogue that is suggested by this personality software. Richard Stern is never hesitant to express his desires, particularly when he is attracted to the subject in his conversations.”

 

Chloe’s eyes widen.

 

RK can’t possibly be suggesting…?

 

“The majority of data we used to replicate my son’s speech and mannerisms had come from Elijah Kamski’s collection of text conversations with my son, along with the footage he had amassed of Richard and Detective Reed. I suppose you can be forgiven for resorting to such crass behavior with little prompting,” Amanda says, though it’s obvious she’s still annoyed. “In that sense, you are very convincing.”

 

“But will it be enough?” Chloe asks, partly out of a desire to redirect the conversation away from RK’s flirtation. “What you’ve proposed will require RK to have more than old camera footage to convince Gavin Reed that he is Nines.”

 

“Niles will interface with my son once he awakens from his coma and forcefully extract whatever memory he can. Human memory is imperfect—at best, using a variety of sensory information to paint an incomplete picture of events. There will be lapses, events my son felt not worth remembering in detail. But it should be enough to make the detective believe Niles is Richard.”

 

Chloe’s still not entirely sure she is convinced as, from what she sees, RK can replicate Nines enough to fool anyone in a limited conversation but integrating him into human society is still the biggest challenge. Most of RK’s interactions with people have so far been only with her and a select few.

 

“This ‘Turing Test’ we’re about to conduct might be too challenging for RK this early on.”

 

“I will do my best. I promise I will not disappoint you, Ms. Weber,” RK says, looking at her earnestly.

 

There’s a thumping in her chest, the expression so distinctly him, that eagerness to please, it makes her feel more heady than she’s willing to admit.

 

Amanda, on the other hand, turns sharply to the android. “I did not give you permission to stop the program. _Never_ engage in dialogue or behavior that is not suggested by the profile you’ve been assigned, unless otherwise prompted to. You have an objective, Niles, and I expect you to complete it _flawlessly_.”

 

The cold, impersonal way she addresses RK bothers Chloe in more ways than she cares to think about. She shouldn’t be upset that Amanda is treating RK as if he’s nothing more than a machine willing to carry out her orders.

 

“Of course,” RK says, cocksure once more. “I _always_ complete my objectives.”

 

Chloe glances between RK and Amanda, a curious look on her face. “If I didn’t know better, Doctor Stern, I’d think you were trying to build a better son.”

 

“It’s what I have always admired about androids, Ms. Weber,” Amanda says. “Unlike people, they can’t disappoint you.”

 

The coldness at which she says it makes Chloe feel a brief wave of empathy for Connor and Nines, having been raised by a woman whose affection is only ever given sparingly. But the feeling passes as Chloe can’t allow herself to be blindsided by her pity, not when they are on the verge of creating something great.

 

“Are you ready for the future, Ms. Weber?”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“I will leave RK900 in your care, since he has quite the affinity for you. Engage with him and let me know if there is anything about his expressions or mannerisms that requires ‘tweaking’.” An uncomfortable frown appears on her face as she pauses and then adds, with some distaste, “There is also the matter of his ‘intimacy’ programming that requires thorough...testing. I will leave that to you and any issues you find with his...’functions’, can be directed to my assistant, who is in charge of that.”

 

Chloe’s face is so hot, she forgets to breathe. She steals a glance as RK stands up and begins to approach her, his gait no longer stiff but with the hint of swagger Nines always carries himself. He towers over her, clad in only Cyberlife issued underwear to hide his recent installment, and the implications of _what_ she needs to do are quickly becoming quite real.

 

Interestingly, she notes that RK still has the friendship bracelet Ralph had given him a few days ago.

 

“Have a goodnight, Ms. Weber.”

 

Chloe’s not even sure she manages to utter anything as she steps out of Amanda’s lab, followed closely by RK.

 

What exactly has she gotten herself into?

 

* * *

 

_July 2040 (now)_

Nines

 

The skin on his arm pulls back, his metallic hand glinting silver in the pale glow cast by the overhead lamp. It had perturbed him back when he first received the prosthetic, his inability to control his synthetic flesh often causing it to retreat at inopportune moments. He hates looking at what lays under it almost as much as he hates the clear disdain in his mother’s voice whenever she tuts and glowers at him in disapproval.

 

“You still haven’t learned to control your basic functions?” she would say so often, it’s become a demoralizing mantra that echoes in his head up until he retires and enters stasis. Each time he hears her voice dripping with disdain, he preconstructs the many scenarios in which he can silence her permanently, feel her windpipe burst in his grip as he squeezes and squeezes and shatters the bones in her neck.

 

Nines would be lying—and would gladly do so with a charming smile—if he claimed that the violent thoughts of matricide in any way disturb him. If anything, it’s the one comforting thought that gets him through the days—the silent promise he’s made to himself that he will live long enough to squeeze the life from that vindictive bitch’s throat.

 

She took **everything** from him. And for that, she will pay the ultimate price.

 

Red burns at his temple beneath the ski mask he wears. He pushes aside the distracting thought as his immediate objective pops up in the upper corner of his right eye.

 

**[Override security system]**

 

Using his synthetic hand, he touches the control panel in front of him. As he interfaces, he is met with resistance from the security network. However, he easily bypasses it and within moments, has set all cameras to perform an infinite video loop of the latest paths taken by the guards on patrol while the clock continues in real time. Downloading the most recent visual data, he uses his processor to assess the routes used by security and construct the paths they have the highest probability of taking while he breaks into the facility. As a necessary precaution, he also deactivates all alarms.

 

Satisfied, he ends the interface and uses his ‘mind palace’ to determine the best point of entrance. It was jarring in the beginning, having all this information compile and accumulate faster than he can process it, yet he’s acclimated to these upgrades since then and breaking and entering has never been so easy.

 

Carefully sealing the panel, he trots silently across the lawn. One of the side entrances remains unlocked, the one most frequented by the guards as they pass through it to patrol the grounds. If his calculations are correct, he has precisely two minutes and fifty three seconds to quietly slide inside before the closest guard rounds the corner and continues her patrol down that hallway.

 

With the absence of fingerprints, his right hand remains ungloved and he uses that one to open the door and sneak in. His shoes make no sound detectable by the inferiority of human ears and he grudgingly must acknowledge that having audio components installed against his consent has turned out to be rather advantageous. It makes it easier to utter expletives under his breath while his mother can only narrow her eyes at him, uncertain of what he said and if he should be reprimanded.

 

He will take his small victories where he can get them.

 

“Hey, Dan? You catch the game last night?”

 

Nines freezes.

 

Flattening himself against the wall of the hallway, he calms the sudden thump in his chest, controls his breaths. Breathing, unfortunately, is one aspect of him that remains typically human. As is his tendency to be overconfident and forget the one most important thing about people: they are so fucking _incompetent._

 

It seems that these two guards on the other side of the corridor are lagging behind their projected paths to talk about _basketball._

 

Beneath his mask, Nines feels his lips pull into a scowl.

 

If they don’t start moving soon, he will be required to dash across the corridor before a third guard rounds the next corner. He has to make it to the stairwell and then he can continue onto the second floor office that contains what he’s been sent to retrieve.

 

A warning pops up in his visual: a countdown until he’s detected.

 

In spite of his forced calm, Nines becomes tense.

 

_37 seconds._

 

He determines he needs, at best, 20 seconds to make it to the stairs.

 

_32 seconds._

 

His window of opportunity is quickly closing.

 

“—three pointer was wild, man!”

 

_23 seconds._

 

He’s running out of time.

 

Hoping the morons are too engrossed in their conversation to look up, he dashes across the corridor to continue straight on ahead, moving at a speedy, yet silent, pace.

 

“...huh? You see that?”

 

At the risk of making noise, Nines quickens his gait.

 

“Y-You better not be fucking with me, bro.”

 

“I swear, I saw something moving.”

 

“I’m not falling for that again!”

 

“Nah, I’m serious. Maybe we should check it out.”

 

Yet by the time the two guards step out into the main hallway, Nines is already up the stairs.

 

Circumventing everyone else proves laughably easy. It’s not long before he’s already hacked the code on the door and is inside the office of the late Zlatko Andronikov.

 

Shutting it quietly behind him, Nines doesn’t bother perusing: the office is mostly filled with ostentatious memorabilia and he would wrinkle his nose at the hideous collectibles—the kind that men with zero taste and too much money amass to make themselves feel important—if the memory of Zlatko didn’t fill Nines with a rage that has him clenching his fists at his side. When he thinks of what that _hack_ had nearly done to—

 

Nines stops. A coldness twists in his gut.

 

He refuses to think of him. Not now. Not when he _needs_ to see this through.

 

He approaches the safe behind the cherry wood desk. A new objective appears in his visual:

 

**[Retrieve the virus]**

 

Much to his amusement, the safe doesn’t have any digital lock he can override. Zlatko really was a fucking moron. Nines has never met a lock he couldn’t open and it only takes a matter of clicks for the safe to unlock.

 

There’s not much inside: bank notes, rubles, a picture of Zlatko with a young Aleksi that Nines takes and crumples into a ball. Both deserved _exactly_ what they got and his only regret is that he hadn’t prolonged both of their deaths, made their last moments even more miserable to end their pathetic legacy. Nines knows that Andronikov Weapons & Tech now has a new CEO—a cousin rumored to be making a name for herself in Detroit’s criminal underworld—but she’s of no interest to Chloe or his mother.

 

No, what they want is the small USB he takes out of the safe, labeled _rA9_. Though Nines had little interest in it when he was given the assignment earlier, his intrigue has since been piqued. He scrutinizes what he holds and wonders what is so valuable about it: he had offered to interface and transfer the data contained on the stick, believing his objective would be more easily accomplished if he placed the USB back in the safe and exited as if he had never been here.

 

However, Amanda had vehemently been against his idea, going as far as to set his protocols so he is unable to interface with the data even if he tries to.

 

“It will corrupt your central processing unit and you will go permanently offline,” Amanda had hissed, with a terseness that made Nines more suspicious than comforted at his mother’s ‘concern’ for his well-being. “ _You_ would set our research back years. After all our efforts to hide you from the state authorities, you would squander Cyberlife’s generosity on something as imprudent as your curiosity. You have an objective, _Richard_ ,” how he hates when she says his name like _that_ , “and for once, I ask you don’t disappoint me.”

 

Temptation is there, the tips of his fingers tingling with that _urge_ to defy his mother, if only for the satisfaction of how livid his insubordination would make her. It would be worth courting death if it meant ruining his mother’s greatest experiment.

 

But as he attempts to urge back his synthetic skin, an invisible wall of resistance appears before him, red creeping into his vision. It always starts like that whenever he pushes: the red is a warning, a sensation that prickles in his central processor and explodes the more he struggles against it until it feels as if the thirium and blood in his veins are burning him from the inside-out.

 

He’s had parts of him hacked away. And yet that doesn’t compare to the pain of attempting to override his own failsafes, which prevent him from harming himself or others. Mostly others. His mother has even less patience for his inclination to inflict suffering on those who piss him off. Neither her nor Chloe will even allow him to wield a gun when they send him out on assignments such as this.

 

Huffing in irritation, he places the USB in his pocket and the wall of red disappears. He’s only broken it once before—immediately after awakening from his coma—but then, Chloe delivered him straight to his mother and the walls were reinforced, stronger than ever. He’s tried numerous times to break them but there’s only so much he can endure.

 

His ears pick up the sound of quickly approaching footsteps and he frowns. This isn’t part of the paths the guards on this floor take; nobody should be passing by this soon. Entering into his mind palace, he deduces quickly the culprit:

 

A lone camera, disconnected from the main security system, that sits above the hideous stuffed bear against the left wall.

 

Well... _fuck._

 

Years of breaking and entering and he falls for a rookie mistake.

 

Nines really wishes he had a gun right now.

 

The door is kicked open and two guards rush into the room. “FREEZE!”

 

But Nines has no intention of following orders. His mind is faster than theirs and though his body still mostly vulnerable flesh and bone, he’s hardened it through years of careful training and a high pain threshold. He’s unable to inflict _intentional_ harm on them, yet he can employ defensive tactics: he dodges as one of the guards fire their gun, twists aside when the other lunges at him. The idiot crashes into Zlatko’s old desk while the other one goes trigger happy and stupidly ends up shooting his companion in the leg. With one now bleeding and cussing on the ground, the other stuttering apologies (really, where the hell did Andronikov Tech find these morons?), it leaves Nines open to make his exit.

 

He constructs a potential route from the second story window, calculating the drop below. Yet as his processor does this, the abandoned gun of the fallen guard tantalizes him at the edge of his vision. How he craves to have those invisible tethers broken, feel the weight of the pistol in his grip, smell of gun powder and copper once the bullet finds its home…

 

_No time!_

 

He jumps through the window, shielding his covered face with his prosthetic arm so it takes most of the impact of the smashing glass. He curls his body and deduces the precise angle he needs, rolling forward as he connects with the ground. From all the panic up above, he can hear one of the idiot guards calling 911 but he’s already sprinting across the lawn towards the gate. He scales it in no time but has no choice but to duck aside into the nearby hedges as two police cruisers pull up. Mentally cursing, he lingers in the shadows, relying on the poor lighting to hide him from view. It was supposed to be a quick job—in and out without being detected—and he can already hear how his mother will reprimand him in his head.

 

It really isn’t his night.

 

Forced to wait around as an ambulance pulls up, Nines slowly slinks towards the neighboring park situated outside the facility’s fence. It feels as if it’s taking forever and he’s actively avoiding the notifications he’s receiving from his mother to connect to the virtual interface she created as a means to constantly monitor his activities. It disturbs him even more that she has access to his right optical unit and can perceive the world as he does at any given moment. Most likely, due to how long this is taking, she must be wondering why he has yet to report in.

 

With one of the cops conferring with security and the rest left to scour the neighborhood for “a tall male wearing a black turtleneck and ski mask”, Nines deems it safe enough to edge around the trees to make his escape through the park. But just as he ducks behind a wide maple, a SWISH pulls up to the gate and parks alongside a police cruiser. Nines would normally pay it no heed, prioritizing his exit over whatever idiot they’ve sent to investigate the scene. Yet, something intuitively keeps him rooted in the spot as he watches an Asian woman leave the driver’s side, half-finished iced coffee in hand. He doesn’t need his facial recognition program to identify Detective Tina Chen.

 

“Any idea where the active shooter is?”

 

A door slams louder than it needs to and the detective shoots an annoyed look at her companion. A rather disgruntled Gavin Reed shrugs, his agitation evident in the tension in his shoulders and scowl on his lips. It’s been so long since Nines last saw him—months since Gavin’s voice pulled him from the confusion of his coma, made him break through all that disorienting coding that held him back from reaching out to the detective—that Nines is stricken with longing so violent, his knees nearly give out. He grips the tree to keep from collapsing, his gaze sharp as he scrutinizes the detective’s face: those barely visible scars are still there, hidden beneath rough stubble Nines wants nothing more than to feel scrape against his skin. He doesn’t care where: against his cheeks, chest, thighs...tucked in the crook of his neck…

 

 _I should have never sent you away,_ he thinks with regret, in but a heartbeat, constructing every other outcome that didn’t end with Gavin walking out of that lab alone. _I should have gone with you that night. I should have **stayed.**_

 

He had no idea, even back then, that Chloe had always intended to deliver him back to his mother.

 

Unable to stop himself, a thirium-tear drips onto the mask.

 

“There’s no active shooter,” the guard answers.

 

“Someone reported a shooting. Can’t have a shooting without an active shooter,” Gavin grumbles.

 

The guard looks somewhat sheepish as she answers, “One of our guys fired his gun and...sort of shot another guard.”

 

“You fucking kidding me?”

 

Tina elbows Gavin sharply. “It’s still a B&E: we need to check it out.”

 

“I got fucking plans tonight,” Gavin snaps.

 

He pulls out his phone and begins calling someone. Nines’ heart thumps wildly as he sees his LED sitting on Gavin’s left hand.

 

Gavin’s still wearing it.

 

He’s still waiting for Nines to come back to him.

 

“Darling,” Nines finds himself uttering under his breath, the syllables sounding so broken with his enhanced hearing, it makes his insides wrench.

 

“You know he won’t care if you get held up at a crime scene,” Tina says.

 

... _he?_

 

A dark look passes over Nines’ face.

 

“That’s besides the fucking point, Ti—hey, babe, you still at home?”

 

Pieces of bark fly off the tree’s trunk as Nines’ fingers dig into it.

 

Gavin’s only ever called him that _._ How dare that—that fucking _impostor_ lay its claim on something that’s never belonged to it.

 

He’s shaking with a rage he has little possibility of taming, his traitorous eyes locking onto the patterns of bruises splashed across Gavin’s neck. Marks obtained in moments of intimacy, shaped by his mouth worn on a synthetic’s face. Nines has known all along what has been parading in public with his newly acquired features. Yet he’s never had to confront the reality of what that means, has always pushed it to the back of his mind. Because to witness it before his eyes is about to send him into a murderous rampage that will undo everything he’s working so hard to gain.

 

But he doesn’t care about his deal with Chloe. He can’t care about the debt he owes that has him in deeper than anything Kamski had manipulated him into doing. Not when _this_ is the cost, when his continued existence is one without Gavin Reed.

 

Gavin balances the phone between his shoulder and ear, a half-smirk forming on his lips. He makes that expression whenever he’s trying his damnedest to be sarcastic and clever but more often than not, ends up saying something so moronic, Nines is never sure he wants to roll his eyes or kiss the idiot. It angers and shatters him simultaneously, to know that expression is not being directed at him.

 

“Fucking asshole shot another asshole trying to play ‘hero’ and now I’m stuck at this shit show,” Gavin complains.

 

The security guard gives Gavin an incredibly dirty look and Tina slaps Gavin upside the head, causing him to fumble with his phone. “Chen, what the fuck?!”

 

The moron’s lack of tact is so endearing, Nines could cry.

 

**[Return to Cyberlife]**

 

The invitations to enter his mother’s ‘Zen Garden’ become more urgent but Nines doesn’t indulge them, ignores the objective that persists in the corner of his vision. He rips off the ski mask he wears, not caring how reckless it is to burst onto an active crime scene wearing the same clothing that will ID him as the assailant. He shares a face with Niles Deckert, can use his voice modulator to mimic the same voice Niles uses in its public life. As far as Gavin knows, Nines _is_ Niles and the moment he sees him, his idiot detective will drop his ‘asshole cop’ routine and let Nines take him in his arms and—

 

A screen of red appears in front of him.

 

Gavin chuckles into the phone.

 

**[Return to Cyberlife]**

 

 _No,_ Nines thinks.

 

He tries to move but his body is frozen on the spot and it’s as if the more he pushes, the harder he’s pounding against this invisible obstruction. His nerves are triggered, registering pain so intense, he swears he feels his body begin to sway, even though he’s vaguely aware he’s standing stock still. Like all his blood vessels are bursting at once. But still, he persists, pounds and pounds until a hairline crack appears in the red.

 

And then, he’s thrust into a bright light, collapsing forward onto his knees. He shudders and shakes, the sweet smell of roses nauseating as they permeate his senses. A hand as cold as it has often been cruel gingerly touches his shoulder. There’s no affection in those cool, brown eyes as Nines reluctantly lifts his gaze to stare up at a visual projection of Amanda Stern.

 

“Get up,” she says, her tone icy. “I will not have any child of mine make a spectacle of himself in his own head.”

 

If her disapproval wasn’t expected, Nines would almost be tempted to shiver from the way she speaks to him. Instead, he does as commanded, rising stiffly to his feet.

 

“You have an objective you need to fulfill,” Amanda calmly explains. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “Or have you forgotten, Richard?”

 

“I am well aware of what I need to do,” Nines answers, “I have retrieved the rA9 virus. I was on my way back to Cyberlife when you forced me into your Zen Garden.”

 

“Don’t lie to me!” she says, sharply. “You are attempting to override your programming. You know you are forbidden from initiating contact with Detective Gavin Reed. Not until you have fulfilled what you agreed to.”

 

“And when _exactly_ will it be enough?” Nines demands, his hands clenched at his sides to keep from striking at her. In reality, his anti-aggression coding causes his central processor to ignore all violent commands to inflict bodily harm, thus preventing him from hurting her in real life. Yet there’s nothing stopping him from attacking a visual projection of her in his head.

 

“When we decide we no longer have use for you,” Amanda answers, coolly. “You wanted to come back to Detroit, yet you knew the price. Both you and RK900 are vital to the development of artificial intelligence. Once we have collected enough data, we will deactivate RK900 and you can return to society as ‘Niles Deckert’. No one, not even your detective, will be aware of what has transpired. For now, all we’re asking is your cooperation.”

 

“You are using me like to steal from Cyberlife’s competitors,” Nines snaps.

 

“I am utilizing an aspect of your skill set that I find less reprehensible than the other ways you’ve dragged _my_ name through the mud. I had expected _better_ from you and your ungrateful brother _after_ I rescued you from that orphanage,” Amanda says, glaring up at him in a way that feels more like she’s staring down her nose at a young child. “Now, whenever anyone hears the name _Stern_ , they think of the red ice king pin of Detroit and his victims instead of _my_ achievements in the field of robotics.”

 

“I was unaware that Cyberlife has permission to legally conduct human experimentation. I should apologize if my insubordination has in any way adversely affected that Nobel Prize you feel entitled to.”

 

“Do not get cute with me, Rich,” Amanda says tersely, on the final threads of her patience. “The only reason you’re still capable of thinking for yourself is because I took enough pity on you to not make you into a mindless machine. If I were you, I would think twice about giving moral lectures. Morality is something you forfeited years ago.”

 

“Let me leave,” he demands, not in the least bothered by her attempts to speak down to him. It’s difficult to feel guilt when he’s learned long ago that her opinion of him will never matter.

 

“Stop attempting to deviate from your objective.”

 

“What if I refuse to cooperate?”

 

In the time since the start of their confrontation, the sky above has darkened to a pale gray, the far off sound of rolling thunder cracking in the storm clouds. Nines can’t be sure if this artificial reality is attempting to feed off his tension or hers but the dark look in her eyes leaves an unsettling feeling twisting inside of him. However, years of her abuse has schooled his features so he knows never to reveal how intimidated he is.

 

“I have the power to shut down your central processor with a simple command,” she reminds him, her light tone more ominous as rain drops splatter around them. “The parts of you that remain organic rely on your artificial components. Without a functioning processor, you will immediately enter into cardiac arrest. Have you forgotten? Or do I need to remind you what happens when you fail to listen to orders?”

 

He grits his teeth and though he knows none of this is real, his sensors are so manipulated by this virtual projection in his head that he feels the heavy rain as it trickles down his face. All he’s done is test her patience and last month, she demonstrated precisely what she threatens him with now.

 

He knows better than to push his luck a second time.

 

“...I will return to Cyberlife.”

 

He hates how defeated he sounds.

 

A small smirk forms on his mother’s lips. “It’s for the best. RK900 has been quite successful at integrating into society. To undo all of that for a hybrid that has yet to optimize his upgrades would set us back years. You are not ready, Richard.”

 

Nines wants to protest but the shame of failing in the one thing he’s always striven for— _control—_ makes him fall into a complacent silence. He stares down at his hand as if he expects the artificial skin to peel and pull back in splotches, as it often does whenever he experiences high levels of stress or emotion. He can no longer bury the parts of him he’s always hidden from the world as all it takes is a sudden bout of rage to expose what he really is.

 

Unlike RK900. Who Gavin apparently _loves._ His perfect, fucking replica, who is everything that Nines will never be.

 

He raises his eyes sharply and stares directly at Amanda as the storm begins to recede.

 

“You are right, mother,” Nines agrees, placidly.

 

Silently, he vows that before he kills her, he will take her fucking creation and rip its thirium pump from its chest, crush it in his palm, and make her watch as that perfect son she manufactured in the lab writhes and shuts down at her feet.

 

For now, he will bide his time. He will obey.

 

“Return to Cyberlife immediately.”

 

When he blinks, the wall of red is before him. Beyond it, Gavin Reed colors as something is said to him over the phone, a soft smile on his lips. The words he whispers as he ends the call are ones Nines is forced to block out, though his audio components still pick them up anyway. He doesn’t reflect on them, nor resent Gavin for saying them, as the knife twists in his chest.

 

“I will come back to you,” Nines whispers.

 

His objective appears before him and instead of fighting it, he does as he has promised his mother.

 

As he turns away and disappears into the connecting woods, a tickling sensation that creeps up his neck makes Gavin look up. But by the time he glances towards the park, all he sees are the shadows cast by the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In these end notes, I would like to address those who may not be happy with how I am ending the series: I went back and forth between the kind of ending that I wanted. And in the spirit of not encouraging any false hopes, I want to say that while I did leave this series 'open' to return to, I don't have any immediate plans to do so and ended it on a note that I am comfortable with. I don't expect everyone to agree with it but I hope for your understanding. I have a lot going on for the next two months (without getting into too many details, I am relocating to a different country in less than three weeks) so I will be trying to end my other series and then taking a writing hiatus until at least the end of October. Thank you for everything. I have never experienced this much enthusiasm for anything I've created and I've never felt this encouraged before. Those of you who have Discord or Tumblr, please feel free to contact me on there. I am always up for chatting about anything D:BH related ^^
> 
> For anyone who is curious, Nines and Niles' new look was loosely inspired on this [Tweet](https://twitter.com/bluecafelatte/status/1057573678257332224) (you may have to click the photo to see a blond version of Bryan). I'm not sure if it's just me but I find Bryan's face narrower and his cheekbones sharper than either Connor or RK900 so I was trying to depict Nines/Niles as basically a blond version of him. Plus, I am going with the Clark Kent effect: throw thick enough glasses on Niles and nobody can tell he's supposed to be 'Nines' XD
> 
> <3


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